


Of Beastly Beauties and Beautiful Beasts

by Drizzt_Do_Urden



Series: Queen of Night and Dawn [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Rewrite, Character Overhaul, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), Not Canon Compliant, Reimagining, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drizzt_Do_Urden/pseuds/Drizzt_Do_Urden
Summary: A rewrite of A Court of Thorns and Roses.





	1. The Archeron Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this is a fix fic for ACOTAR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intro to the Archeron sisters

"You aim the bow a little higher than the target," I said, aiming my bow just a little higher than the bull's eye to demonstrate, "to account for the inevitable arcing that the arrow does. And then, once you have the bow properly aimed-"

I let go of the bowstring, and watched as the arrow flew towards the target, hitting it right in the center of the painted-on bull's eye.

"You let it fly," I finished, turning back towards my older sister Elain. 

Elain placed her hands on her hips and scowled. 

"I hope you know I'm only here because Nesta made me do this," she scoffed. "I have no intention of transforming into an unrefined, unladylike minx like yourself." 

It was true. Our older sister, Nesta, had indeed insisted that I take Elain out to Old Widow Mallory's farm to teach her archery. And yes, I knew full well it was only so Nesta could suck face with Thomas Mandray in private. 

But archery was a valuable skill for hunting, and perhaps by hunting with Elain, I could repair my relationship with her. And that I would therefore have at least ONE healthy relationship with someone in my family. Papa didn't count; he'd been six feet under for years now. 

"Archery is _not_ unladylike," I protested, quickly trying to change track. "The baroness is an avid fan of it. I...I hear she regularly practices it on her estate." 

The baroness in question, Lady Catharine Bathory, was the new wife of our local Baron Bathory. Nesta and Elain were among her most fervent admirers; they saw her as the embodiment of everything a woman should be. Especially a noblewoman or a woman who aspired to be nobility. In their eyes, she could do no wrong. 

"Yes, but she doesn't use it to go _hunting_," Elain snapped. "The baroness would never be so unladylike as _that_. And after all, isn't that what you're teaching me to use this for, _Feyre_?"

"I...was," I admitted, "But you don't have to hunt if you don't want to. Here-" 

I slung my bow back over my shoulder, rushed over to the target to retrieve my arrow, and went back to Elain. 

"Why don't we help Widow Mallory with her crops instead?" I suggested. " You like gardening, right? There's nothing unladylike about gardening, is there?" 

Elain did indeed like gardening, but more importantly, it was absolutely clear to me now that she did not, nor would she ever want to, learn archery. Which was fine: handling weaponry wasn't for everyone. 

"I suppose there isn't," Elain admitted. "Still, I would rather not stoop so low as to harvest wheat like a _farmhand_."

"Poor women take what they can get in this world," Widow Mallory told us as she walked out of her house and into the farmyard. "Feyre has harvested many a bushel of wheat for me these past few years, and been all the better for it. You would be wise to emulate her. Put away your delusions of childish nobility, Elain Archeron, and start living in the real world." 

"We are NOT poor!" Elain insisted, clearly mortified at the idea of being classified as such. "We have _servants_! Do _poor_ people have _servants_?" 

"One old nurse who just won't leave despite not having been paid in years does not count as having a maid," Widow Mallory scoffed. "And neither does bossing Feyre about whenever you feel like it." 

"Okay," I said, stepping between the two of them and pushing an arm out at both of them. "So...gardening is off the table. How about...we go inside and have some tea? You like tea, right, Elain?"

"That I do," Elain replied, puffing her chest out with pride as she began to stride into the house. "Come, Mrs. Mallory, let us have some tea." 

With that, the three of us walked back into the farmhouse and made our way to Widow Mallory's parlor. Once there, Elain sat herself upon one of the fluffy pink chairs and ordered, 

"Alright, Feyre, go down to the kitchen and boil the tea." 

Before I could obey, however, a disgruntled Widow Mallory protested: 

"There's no need for _that_! I _have_ servants, you know. Ones I _pay_." 

Indeed, she did. And they were very fine servants, too: a cook all the way from Bharat, who made the most wonderful curry dishes, albeit ones quite on the spicy side, a scullery maid to assist the cook and do the menial housework, a housemaid, a coachman, and a groom for the horses. The thought of any of whom immediately caused Elain to get all huffy. And Elain was already irritated enough.

"No, really, it's no trouble," I assured Widow Mallory. "I do this all the time." 

With that, I hastily curtsied and rushed off to the kitchen, where I began the work of preparing tea. Once the tea was prepared and poured into the teapot, I asked Padma, the cook if I could borrow some tarts, explaining that the Widow Mallory was having tea with Elain. 

"And she expects you to wait on her, does she?" the stout, middle-aged cook remarked dryly.

"Well-" 

The cook grabbed the tea tray out of my hands, bundled some tea cakes on it, and handed the tea tray to the scullery maid. 

"Bring this to the parlor," she ordered. "And tell that hussy Elain that I don't care much for how she treats her sister, _or_ for being upstaged in my own kitchen."

"No, please-" I begged, as the scullery maid dashed out of the kitchen. "It's _fine_-" 

"It's _not_ fine," Padma snapped. "You're not a carpet, Feyre. You need to stop letting your sisters walk all over you." 

Padma then grabbed my arm, dragged me to the servants' dining hall, quickly went to back to the kitchen, and then put a plate of _pakoras _before me.

"Eat," she commanded as I stared open-mouthed at the plate of delicious-looking fritters from Padma's homeland. "It's not like you're going to get anything better at home." 

Padma had a point. Given our poverty, we didn't have an abundance of food to begin with, and Nesta and Elain insisted on getting the lion's share of it. I usually ended up eating the table scraps. 

So I obediently dug in to the _pakoras_, happily consuming every last one of them. Once I was done, Padma shooed me out of the servants' dining room and ushered me back into Widow Mallory's excessively pastel parlor, where Elain, upon seeing me, immediately began glaring daggers in my direction. 

I held up my hands in an appeasing gesture. 

"Don't blame me," I pleaded. "It wasn't my idea-it was all Padma!" 

"I don't care," Elain snapped. "You still disobeyed me. Wait 'til I tell Nesta about this!" 

I flinched reflexively. Nesta was a terror once she got a whip or a rod into her hands, and she was not afraid to use either one of those. 

"Go right ahead, little missy." I heard Padma say behind me.

I turned to face Padma, who was standing right behind me, scowling, with her strong, callused hands on her hips. 

"Tell your heartless shrew of a sister that I stood up to you," Padma hissed. " And the moment you do, I'll tell her about that little tryst you're still continuing with Isaac Hale. You know, the one your sister ordered you to end?"

Elain's face went white. 

"How do you know about that?" she gasped. 

It was pretty obvious, actually. I was honestly surprised that Nesta _still_ didn't know. And I also honestly didn't see what the big deal was. Although I personally didn't care much for him, I could understand why Elain did; Isaac Hale was young, handsome, and his father was very rich-he was quite a catch. In fact, Isaac's father was arguably one of the richest men in town. Elain would be very happy with him. According to Nesta, though, because Isaac wasn't a nobleman, or even gentry, he wasn't good enough for Elain. And so she had ordered Elain to dump him, so that the two of them could keep attempting to court noblemen together.

The fact that Elain was doing the latter-albeit halfheartedly- without having dumped Isaac Hale was _not_ going to sit well with Nesta. 

"Does it _matter_ how I know?" Padma snapped. "I'm still going to tell Nesta unless you act like a grownup and admit you can't push Feyre around everywhere you go." 

"Fine," Elain snapped, seething in rage as she rose from her chair. "But if you interfere in our family affairs again, I'll see to it that you won't work in this town again." 

"Except that _I'm_ her employer," Widow Mallory pointed out dryly. "Not you." 

That's hardly any protection, I thought as I recalled what had happened to the last person who had tried to intervene in our family affairs. Last year, the local fletcher's wife had chewed Nesta off for making me sleep in the stables in all seasons. A week later, the baker's wife had found a glove belonging to the fletcher's wife in her bedroom. She'd angrily chewed out her husband for cheating on her, then stormed over to the fletcher and told him. Enraged, the fletcher had tossed his wife out with nothing but the clothes on her back, and she'd been forced to leave town in disgrace.

Of course, everyone except for the fletcher and the baker's wife knew that the glove had been planted. To this day I don't know if Nesta or Elain was the one who did it, but I did know that Elain would not hesitate to do something similar to Padma. 

So in a conciliatory gesture, I hastily began cleaning up the tea dishes, the Widow Mallory and Padma scoffing as I did.

"Well, at least _she_ knows her place," Elain said with a satisfied smirk. "Even if _you two_ don't." 

Widow Mallory seethed in rage, clearly about to go off on my poor sister. Before she could, however, I hastily gave the dishes to the housemaid, who was standing behind Elain waiting patiently for an order, and then grabbed Elain's arm. 

"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we have to go," I said hastily. "The sun is setting, and Nesta won't like it if we're late." 

While Widow Mallory looked out the window and saw that the sun was indeed setting, I took the opportunity to usher my sister out of the house and begin the trek towards our house. Elain spent most of said trek going on at length about how _quaint_ and _small_ Widow Mallory's parlor was, how deeply unfashionable the widow's gowns were, and otherwise talking smack about her. I let her carry on, but refused to indulge any of it with a response. While it was still winter and there was nothing to harvest as of yet, I still wanted to be able to harvest crops for her come springtime, and talking about the Widow behind her back was a guaranteed way to not make that happen. 

When we at last arrived at our poor, pathetic ruin of a country cottage, we found Nesta sitting by the fire and staring at her hand with an enormous grin on her face. 

"Guess what, Elain?" Nesta cried as she stood up to greet us. "He proposed! Thomas Mandray proposed!" 

"Really?" Elain gasped as Nesta extended her hand, revealing an amethyst engagement ring on her ring finger. 

"Yes," Nesta replied, positively beaming. "As of Friday, I am officially going to be the next Viscountess Mandray!" 

"That's wonderful!" I cried, tears of joy starting to form in my eyes. "Congratulations, Nesta!"

Nesta's gaze turned towards me, and then, without warning, she slapped me. 

"Did I speak to you, you little whore's get?" she snapped. 

"N-no," I stammered, cupping my injured cheek and taking a half-step back. "N-no, you didn't."

For those curious as to why she called my mother a whore, allow me to explain: my mother is not the same person as Nesta and Elain's mother. Their mother, Papa's first wife, was none other than Lady Eleanor Valhemia, niece to the late Count Valhemia. My mother, Valeria, meanwhile, was merely one of our father's housemaids, whom he was having an affair with while married to Lady Valhemia. I was born when Nesta was five and Elain three, and for the first six years of my existence I lived in the servants' quarters until, while exploring the estate, I was discovered by Lady Valhemia, who had up until then been ignorant of both my existence and the affair in general. It did not take Lady Valhemia long after discovering me to learn of the affair, however, and once she did, words cannot describe how furious she was. 

The night she discovered it, she chewed out my father for his infidelity for a good three hours before then dragging my mother in by her hair and attempting to burn my mother's face in the fireplace. When Papa stopped her, she tossed her wedding cuff into the fire, ordered the servants to pack her bags, and then left, taking her massive dowry with her. But not before declaring that Papa could "keep" Nesta and Elain, saying they were "his" and that she didn't care what he did with them. 

As if her parting words weren't enough, the loss of her massive dowry also did a huge blow to our finances. With Lady Valhemia being the niece of a count, her dowry had enabled Papa, Nesta, and Elain to live as large as nobility did, and indeed, to almost _call_ themselves nobility. Without said fortune, however, we now had to rely on Papa's income as a mere middling merchant, which, while hardly making us poor, was significantly less. Papa was hardly concerned about that though, after allowing for one week to finalize the divorce papers, he proposed to my mother, delighted to be finally free of Lady Eleanor. My mother accepted, and they got married immediately. 

My mother was _hardly_ cruel to them, but Nesta and Elain were still none too pleased to have her as a stepmother, probably because their own mother had declared she cared nothing for them. And Papa, while not neglectful in any sense towards them, did demonstrate a slight favoritism for me, which only poured salt into the wound. Thus I don't blame them for being pleased when my poor mother died of an epidemic no doctor could cure. I, being the tender age of eleven at the time, was devastated, of course, but at least I know my mother loved me. 

Not to mention, two years later, Papa would end up losing all his money to a bad investment, forcing us to move out of our lovely home in Seraston, fire almost all the servants, and move out to the only piece of property Papa could afford: our current, pathetic little cottage. As if being penniless wasn't, Father would also end up losing his life thanks to a rogue attack by one of the Fae, who had escaped over the wall dividing the Fae world from the human lands and murdered him. One can hardly judge them for not mourning my mother properly when so much misery was to follow. 

"Then why did you?" Nesta hissed.

"I-I...because I love you, Nesta," I tried to explain. "And I want you to be happy."

Nesta scoffed. 

"If you wanted us to be happy, little whore's get, then you should have never have been born."

Nesta turned towards Effie, her and Elain's old nanny, who was currently setting the table for Nesta and Elain. Papa had tried to explain to her that since they couldn't pay her, she didn't need to stay, but she refused to listen. Since she was a lesser fae whose life Lady Valhemia had saved at one point, she owed Lady Valhemia a life debt, and thus was not serving them for payment in the first place. Lady Valhemia had also refused to let Effie accompany her back home, so Effie thus had chosen to pay the life debt by serving Nesta and Elain. Her main duty nowadays was cooking whatever I managed to hunt or buy with what little money we managed to scrounge up, since my hands were not fit to touch Nesta and Elain's food, and Nesta and Elain were too ladylike to cook. 

"Effie, give the whore's get her scraps and send her out to the stables," Nesta ordered.

Effie obeyed, shoving a pot full of random table scraps into my hands and pointing in the direction of the stables. 

The stables were not, of course, home to any horses, since we couldn't afford any, but they still had hay for me to sleep on, of which I was glad. I dutifully sat down on my hay bed, ate my scraps, and, when the moon was high, went to sleep. 


	2. A Wedding Gone Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta gets married; Andras crashes the party in wolf form. Nesta kills Andras in self-defense; Tamlin comes to claim a life. Feyre sacrifices herself for her sister. Tamlin takes Feyre to the Spring Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed it so that the Treaty actually DOES stipulate a 'life for a life' thing, to make Tamlin less of a manipulative douchebag. Of course, he still made Andras charge at Nesta, so...maybe it's a sideways move.  
Also, you will observe that Isaac is Elain's beau now, as opposed to Feyre's. Their fuck buddy relationship, while fine, made no sense in context of the story.   
Also, Tamlin is going to be honest with Feyre from the start in this-there will be no lying to Feyre, no "blight", no nothing.

Oddly enough, I was actually permitted to attend Nesta's wedding. Granted, Nesta's permission came with many, many conditions attached to it.

First of which was that I _absolutely must not_ introduce myself as Nesta and Elain's sister. Rather, if anyone spoke to me, I was instead to say that I was their cousin. Second, I was not, unless I wanted to beaten within an inch of my life, to speak to Thomas Mandray. Not even if the young viscount should deign to speak to me; and if he did, I was to pretend to be a deaf-mute. Thirdly, I was not to sit up front, but rather, to make myself as invisible as I could within the crowd of guests. And if any of Nesta or Elain's old friends from Seraston were to show up, I was not to fraternize with them-rather, I was expected to stick to the "country cousin" story and pretend to have never met them before.

Finally, if any of the Valhemias showed up, I was not, under any circumstances, to speak to _any_ of them. 

None of the Valhemias _did_ show up, however. Not even Lady Eleanor Valhemia herself. And upon seeing this, I could not help but feel pity for poor Nesta; her own mother couldn't care to show up for her daughter's wedding. Not only that, but Effie wasn't there, either. Yes, Effie was_ technically_ a servant where I wasn't, but almost everyone in the village had showed up. Why couldn't Effie? Gods knew, Nesta certainly liked her more than me.

"Don't be stupid, Feyre," Elain snapped when I asked her this question in the dressing tent. "Effie is one of the _Fae_. Nobody wants to see a Fae at the wedding." 

"Fair point," I conceded as I laced her corset up. Given what the Fae had done to us humans so many centuries ago-enslaving us and forcing us to build civilizations for them out of blood and sweat-seeing a Fae, even a lesser fae working as a servant- would surely dampen the mood.

Elain had to dress for the wedding proper in the tent because, as Nesta's sister, she had to accompany Nesta out in the woods and perform the end-of-girlhood ritual with her. This I _also _was allowed to attend, an act of generosity which boggled the mind. 

The three of us, barefoot and clad in our _heavily_ reworked first-blood dresses-as first-blood dresses often are at these ceremonies, given that a first-blood dress is made when a girl has her first monthly bleeding, and that a woman's wedding is typically _years_ after that event-we walked to the wood goddess's sacred spring, saying not a word as we did. The event was too sacred for small talk. Once we arrived at the spring, Nesta turned to Elain and said, 

"Pay attention. You'll be doing the exact same thing for your own wedding."

She then turned towards the priestess, who stood by a makeshift altar, holding a bowl of lavender oil to anoint Nesta with. Nesta knelt on the grass before the priestess, her head bowed low in reverence. 

The priestess surveyed Elain and me, eyeing us with disdain. 

"Is this really all?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Where is the mother, the grandmothers, the aunts? The female cousins?"

Nesta's cheeks burned. I winced in pity, not imagining what was going through her mind. Nesta, strong-willed as she was, was always a pious sort; she would not have dreamed of intentionally dishonoring the goddess in any way. 

"Revered priestess, my mother...my mother would not show," she explained. It clearly pained her to admit it, but one did not dare lie to a priestess in a sacred place. "The same is true of my mother's mother. As for my father's mother-she has long since been buried. As for any aunts-my father has no sisters to speak of, and his brothers...his brothers have produced only male issue." 

The priestess drew a deep breath in. 

"I see," she said thinly. "Well then...Sisters Archeron, we are gathered here today in honor of Beltane, goddess of the woods, wild animals, and dawn, protector of virgins, and lady of the hunt. Today is a momentous day in the life of Nesta Archeron, who will be sacrificing her girlhood to the goddess to become a woman. A woman who will, once the ritual is complete, go on to marry the Viscount Thomas Mandray."

The priestess then turned to Nesta, anointed her forehead with the lavender oil, and asked in an imperious voice,

"Nesta Archeron, are you ready to strip away the last vestiges of your girlhood and be reborn as a woman?" 

Nesta raised her proudly and without hesitation, replied, 

"I am." 

"Then let us proceed," the priestess announced, setting down the bowl of lavender oil and withdrawing the ritual knife from the altar. 

The priestess pressed the knife to Nesta's dress, and in one clean motion, cut all the way through it, causing the remnants to fall to the ground, leaving Nesta naked. The priestess then gathered up the remains of Nesta's first-blood dress and announced, 

"Today, O Beltane, we sacrifice the girlhood of Nesta Archeron, so that you may remake her anew into a woman, on this her wedding day." 

She tossed the remnants of the dress into a small fire pit set across from the altar. The priestess turned to Nesta and said, 

"Walk into Beltane's spring, Nesta Archeron, and be reborn." 

Nesta obediently stood up, walked into the spring, and submerged herself in the waters. After a few moments, the priestess then announced, 

"Nesta Archeron, you are now reborn as a woman, and ready to marry the Viscount Mandray." 

Nesta lifted her head out of the water, but just as she did, an enormous wolf the size of a pony suddenly appeared on the far side of the spring. Its eyes were golden, and it looked at us with a startling intelligence. 

Nesta panicked and immediately rushed out of the spring and back onto dry land, hastily dressing herself with the thin white robes provided for her on the altar. Elain, terrified, clung to me for dear life. 

"It...it...it is a sign," the priestess blurted, clearly just as scared as the rest of us were. "From...Beltane, yes. A sign that she accepts your sacrifice, and wishes you well on your wedding day." 

This was, of course, absolute bullshit. Beltane's sacred animals were deer, finches, swallows, sparrows, thrushes, wrens, and geese. _Not wolves_. But even if they were, Beltane would certainly not send an abomination shaped in wolf form to show her appreciation. She communicated in whispers of the wind. The priestess ought to have known better. 

No, this was one of the Fae, and every soul here knew it. 

Nesta glared at the priestess and said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, 

"But _of course_."

The wolf then disappeared as quickly as he came, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The priestess graciously chose to ignore Nesta's disrespect, instead choosing to dismiss us and clean up after the ritual. 

We had all chosen to do the same, to forget about the wolf and instead think of the upcoming wedding. A wedding for which Nesta still had to get dressed for. 

"Oh, do hurry up, whore's get," Nesta snapped as she sat in her shift on the cushions, waiting for me to help her dress. "Elain's not the one who has to be married today."

"My apologies, Nesta," I said, tightening the laces on Elain's gown one last time before turning my attention to Nesta.

For her wedding, Nesta had chosen a most beautiful gown of light blue silk, embroidered with white and silver designs and made up in the latest fashion. It had taken almost all of both her and Elain's pay for this month as governesses, which would set us back quite a bit. Nevertheless, I could hardly begrudge her. After all, if you were lucky, you only got married once- and it wouldn't do to have a bad dress for your wedding. Especially not if you were marrying a viscount. I dressed her as fast as I could, then placed Nesta's favorite gold necklace enlaid with sapphires around her neck. Elain had bought it for Nesta as a present for her twenty-fifth birthday. Said gift had only further served to plunge us into debt, of course-but it was still kind of Elain nevertheless, and Nesta only treasured it more as a result. My sisters had never been good at budgeting to begin with, so it wasn't fair to criticize Elain anyway. 

I then arranged Nesta's golden-brown wavy hair-the same hair Elain and I had- into an elegant upsweep fit for a soon-to-be viscountess. Once that was done, Nesta then applied cosmetics to her blue-gray eyes in so elegant a way I couldn't help but be jealous of. While my mother had taught me to paint, and paint beautifully at that-she had not lived long enough to teach me the subtle ways of womanhood, such as applying makeup. Indeed, since she had died before I had my first monthly bleeding, she had not been able to teach me _anything_ about womanhood. Nesta and Elain had not exactly been forthcoming about any of the women's mysteries either, and Papa, being a man, was too ignorant to teach me anything. I thus learned the biological basics in a piecemeal sort of way, and everything else was still a mystery to me. 

But even if my mother had lived, I doubt she would have been interested in teaching me how to be a lady anyway. Papa, if he had his way, would have transformed me into the ultimate high society lady, but Mother had put her foot down very firmly about that, insisting that it was much more practical to raise me as his heir. Papa had relented, and thus Mother chose to educate me in the ways of finances, swordsmanship, hunting, riding, and other such pursuits. While I am sure she would have taught me the biological basics if she had lived, I have no doubt that she never once would have taught me anything about things like cosmetics. 

Once Nesta was finished, the three of us walked out of the tent, Elain and Nesta in their finery, I in my ordinary linen temple-day dress, because a whore's get did not deserve finery. Still, my temple-day dress was ten times better than my usual clothes, which were either ragged work dresses, or ragged breeches and shirts.

"Now, Elain," Nesta began, "This is very important. When you get married, it is _absolutely crucial_ that you ship the whore's get off to the priesthood beforehand. Otherwise, you'll never be rid of her, and we don't want that. Do I make myself clear?" 

Elain nodded. 

"Feyre will be shipped off to the priesthood the minute I become engaged," she assured Nesta. "Which I have a feeling will be happening quite soon." 

Nesta smiled. 

"Good. Now, farewell, sister. I wish I could take you with me, but Thomas's mother absolutely refused. Some nonsense about my no longer being an Archeron or something like that, it-" 

"Don't worry," Elain said, caressing Nesta's cheek, "I should have told you before, but I'm seeing someone. And I know he's going to propose to me very soon-I saw him asking his mother if he could borrow her old amethyst ring."

"That's wonderful!" Nesta gasped. "Who is this mysterious gentleman?" 

Before Elain could respond with some lie, just then Papa's brother, our Uncle Richard walked over to us, extending his arm to Nesta and coughing impatiently. 

"I believe I have an aisle to walk you down, dear niece." 

I could not help but grimace at the words "dear niece"; when we begged him for aid six years ago, he'd given us the same response the Valhemias had: a complete and utter refusal to help. I had resented him ever since. 

Nesta, however, smiled and graciously accepted his arm, and with that, Elain and I took our places in the crowd of witnesses, while Uncle Richard walked Nesta down a makeshift aisle to where the priestess from before and Thomas Mandray stood. He deposited Nesta there and then took his place in the crowd.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, with the priestess having a brief sermon before Thomas and Nesta spoke their vows, and Nesta then slipping off her amethyst ring for the traditional iron cuff, which both declared to the world that Nesta was a married woman and was a protection against the Fae as well. 

At the ceremony's conclusion, Nesta walked over to me and said, 

"If you keep up the good behavior, whore's get, I'll buy you some new paint tins before I leave for my husband's manor." 

Surprised at this further generosity, I breathed, 

"Thank you. You are too kind, Nesta." 

Nesta smiled and went to rejoin her husband. Behind me, the Widow Mallory scoffed. 

"Just yesterday she gave you a serious whipping for spilling her laundry," she remarked. "And now you flatter her to her face?" 

"Lighten up, Mrs. Mallory," I chuckled. "It was only twenty lashes. I've had far worse."

Widow Mallory scowled. 

"I know, child. Because each time, I've had to patch you up with my precious Fae ointments." 

"Ointments which you are not supposed to have in the first place," I pointed out, "Given the Treaty and all." 

"Just like Effie shouldn't have crossed over the wall and come to work for your father's first wife," Widow Mallory pointed out, a small smile spreading across her face. "Trust me, child, you're no place to judge violations of the Treaty." 

With that, Widow Mallory walked away, leaving me absolutely puzzled. Because aside from benefiting from Widow Mallory's ointments, the only other Fae in my life was Effie, who was Nesta and Elain's servant, _not_ mine, and besides, Effie clearly outranked me. I myself had done nothing to break the Treaty that I knew of. 

Spurred on by the promise of new paint tins, I doubled down on my efforts to follow Nesta's conditions during the wedding feast, which, stupidly enough, was held outdoors, on the outskirts of the woods. Yes, it was traditional for wedding ceremonies to take place outside, in order to honor Beltane, but that didn't mean it was nessecary to hold the feast near the woods as well. We should have held the feast in the village, like sensible people.

I say this because halfway through the wedding feast, the wolf abomination from the maidenhood rite came charging in, knocking over tables as he went. In a panic, the guests scattered, leaving the wolf free to leap at Nesta. 

I rushed towards her, hoping to save my sister, if I could, but I had only gotten halfway there before Nesta took Thomas Mandray's sword out of its scabbard and plunged it deep into the wolf's body just as it was about to pounce. The wolf whined, and then crumpled to the ground, dead at Nesta's feet. 

The guests all sighed in relief and attempted to right the tables. Nesta, breathing hard, wiped the sword on the wolf's body, sheathed it in Thomas's scabbard, and sat back down in her chair. 

"I guess Beltane didn't mean to wish us well after all," Elain mused with a laugh as she stood beside Nesta. 

Nesta chuckled. 

"No, and neither do I," thundered a mysterious voice behind me. 

We all turned, and saw that the speaker was an enormous beast with golden fur.

"You have killed a Fae," the voice announced, "As you know, that is in direct violation of the Treaty." 

It was true. The Treaty explicitly stated: Fae are not to kill humans, and humans are not to kill Fae.

"It was in self-defense!" Nesta snapped. "That wolf was about to devour me!" 

"That does not matter," the beast replied. "You still broke the Treaty. And, as the Treaty demands, a life must be exchanged for a life. Either I cut you down now, mortal, or you come with me to live out the rest of your days in Prythian." 

Prythian...the name of the unified Fae lands to the north. It would be filled with vicious, awful creatures, eager to do vile, unspeakable things to my sister. All for defending herself against the Fae. 

Thomas unsheathed his sword and pointed it in the beast's direction.

"You will not lay a hand on my wife, foul creature!" he roared. 

"Ah, such bravery," the beast remarked. "You do realize, little human, that if you kill me, you will have broken the Treaty as well. Will you die with your new wife, little human? Or will you abandon her to come live out the rest of your days in Prythian?" 

Damn. The beast held us over a barrel. If anyone tried to save Nesta by killing him, their lives would be forfeit as well. But if no one intervened, Nesta would either die or be forced to leave Thomas-and the human world-_forever_. 

It was in that moment that I knew what I had to do. 

"No!" I cried, stepping between the beast and my sister. "Please, don't hurt her! If anyone has to be punished, let it be me! Please, _let it be me_!" 

The beast looked me curiously, his jade-colored eyes taking in this unexpected development with interest. 

"And... who are _you_?" he asked.

"Feyre," I replied. "My name is Feyre." 

"And who," the beast continued, pointing a gold claw at Nesta, "Is this woman to you that you would risk your own skin to save her?" 

"She's my sister," I explained. "My oldest sister. And she just got married today to a man I know she loves very much." 

Nesta glared at me from her place beside Thomas. 

"I'm sorry, Nesta," I said, turning to glance at her. "But it's too late to buy me new paint anyway." 

I turned back to face the beast, who said, 

"Your selflessness is truly commendable. Because of your love for your sister, and because it would be wrong to kill you for something you didn't do, I shall take you to Prythian in place of your sister, where you will live out the rest of your days in my court, where your every need and wish will be attended to." 

I sighed in relief. 

"Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me that you spared my sister." 

Of course, I still had to live in Prythian, a land which was deadly to mortals, but better me than Nesta. 

"It is nothing," the beast replied, although the look on his face was clearly pained. "I will allow you to say your goodbyes now, Feyre, for it is time. Do not take long." 

"I won't." 

With that, I turned to Nesta, curtsied- and said, 

"Goodbye, Nesta. I wish you and the viscount well." 

"So long, whore's get," Nesta harrumphed, waving her hand dismissively. "And good riddance." 

Thomas Mandray seemed quite put off by this greeting, but I did not have time for him. Instead, I rushed over to Elain, hugged her, and said, 

"Goodbye, Elain. And good luck with you-know-who." 

Elain wrinkled her nose as she pushed me off of her. 

"Well...I guess this is as good as shipping you off to the priesthood," she mused. "Better, even. Try not to get eaten on the first day, Feyre." 

"Elain Archeron!" the Widow Mallory gasped behind her. 

Elain shrugged and pulled herself off of me. 

"Whatever," she said with a shrug as she walked off to find Isaac. 

The Widow Mallory gave me an enormous bear hug. 

"Goodbye, Feyre," she said, half-sobbing. "I'll miss you." 

"Take care, Mrs. Mallory," I said. "Oh, and would you look after Elain, please? She's not going to be able to make it without Nesta's salary and what I earn from my hides and odd jobs." 

Widow Mallory sighed. 

"I will," she assured me. "But don't worry. Once you-know-who proposes, she'll have everything she desires." 

_ But how long would that be?_ I thought as I went off to find Padma.

"Goodbye, Feyre," Padma said. "I'll think of you. And I'll comfort myself knowing that you at least got away from your sisters." 

I shook my head, blinking back tears. 

"That's the worst part, Padma. I'll never get to see my family again." 

Padma sighed. 

"Someday you'll realize that's more of a blessing than it appears." 

After Padma I hastily said my goodbyes to everyone else I knew, since I could see the beast was getting impatient. Once the goodbyes were finished, I turned to him, and he said, 

"Take me to your residence, Feyre. It is time to collect your things." 

And with that, I led him to our pathetic little house, and then to the stables, which confused him. 

"Why would your things be here?" the beast asked, appearing to be thoroughly confused. 

"This is where I sleep," I explained as I gathered up my clothes, my bow and arrows, and my painting supplies. 

"Is...is there not room for you in the house?" the beast asked. 

"There are only two usable bedrooms upstairs, but those are taken up by my sister's," I explained. "While there are servants' quarters downstairs, I am not fit enough for those. So I sleep here."

"Huh," the beast said. "Well, you shall not be sleeping in any stables in my court." 

The beast then proceeded to tie a blindfold around my eyes, explaining that although he did not believe I would try to escape, custom nevertheless demanded the precaution. A precaution which was in vain: escaping would mostly likely mean dooming Nesta. 

Once blindfolded, the beast helped me unto his back, and then I smelled a strange metallic tang, and fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, the beast stood in front of a hedge-bordered metal gate, which swung open for him of its own volition. 

"Prythian," I breathed. "We're in Prythian." 

"Ah, you're awake," the beast mused as he walked through the gate. "And yes, we are in Prythian. In the Spring Court, to be precise." 

But...it took two days to get from the cottage to the Wall. 

"I've been asleep for two days?!" I cried. 

"Yes," the beast replied. "I put you in an enchanted sleep so the journey would not be hard on you." 

"Uh...thank you?" I replied, unsure what to make of the whole thing. 

"You're welcome." 

The beast's estate was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life. The only thing I could possibly compare it to was the manor of my early childhood, the one I lived in before Papa divorced Lady Valhemia. But that manor, grand as it had been, was a city house, not a country estate.

The house was a majestic alabaster creation, covered in the reddest roses imaginable. It sat on a rolling green lands encased by a distant line of forest, and the garden leading up to the main doors was made up of the most vibrant flowers I had ever seen. Were it not for the metallic tang of magic and the strange, subdued emptiness of the place, I would have completely lost myself in its beauty. 

As it was, something was wrong. If this truly was an honest-to-gods Fae _court, _why weren't there more people around?!

Once inside the house, the beast ordered me to dismount, which I did. Immediately after, there was a blind flash of light, and suddenly the beast was a beautiful golden-haired man. No, not a man, one of the High Fae. 

He was young- or at least appeared to be, from what I could tell of it. Most of his face was covered in an elaborate golden mask which showed only his jade-colored eyes, a strong jaw, and a supple mouth. 

"My apologies," the High Fae said as I stared at him, stunned. " I know your name, but you do not know mine. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court." 

He...he was a High Lord?!! That...that made my captor one of the seven most powerful people in all Prythian!! Prythian being divided into seven courts ruled by seven High Lords, none of which ruled over the other. 

I found myself both immediately grateful that I had not left my sister to his justice, and terrified of what I had gotten myself into. 

"Y-Your Grace," I stammered, quickly dropping into a curtsy, "T-thank you for inviting me to live in your court. I...I promise to-" 

"There's no need for formalities," the High Lord said with a laugh. "Call me Tamlin." 

"Well, then...thank you..._Tamlin_," I corrected myself, inwardly balking at the idea of being so informal with a Fae noble. 

"Come," he said, extending a hand to me. "It's time you had some breakfast." 


	3. In the Spring Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Lucien is not going to be Tamlin's only courtier.  
Also, there's going to be no glamour put on the Spring Court, since I'm having Tamlin be honest with Feyre in this version.  
I decided to name Feyre's human kingdom Serast.  
Also, yeah, I decided to introduce Ianthe's villainy earlier.

Breakfast turned out to be served in a massive great hall, the entirety of which, from its walls to its vaulted ceiling to the floors, was made out of marble. The tables, in stark contrast, were made out of cherry wood, which would have made the place feel cold and intimidating were it not for the swirling designs of roses painted on the walls, and the garlands of flowers which hung on the chandeliers.

What was most striking about the place, however, was that it was totally deserted. 

"Most members of my court prefer to take breakfast in their rooms," Tamlin explained as he led me towards up the steps to the dais, "And lunch is almost always taken in the gardens, except when it's raining. This place will be much more crowded come dinner time." 

Tamlin then took his place in the central chair of the table, and gestured for me to sit by his side. I nervously obeyed, feeling even more out of place than I already did. 

Breakfast turned out to be apple tarts, freshly baked bread with the most gloriously golden butter I had ever seen, and bits of beef. It was served on delicate porcelain plates and it was absolutely delicious. We washed it down with the cleanest, freshest-tasting water I had ever had, served from an elegant crystal decanter and poured into the most delicate crystal goblets I had ever seen. 

When breakfast was over, and squat servants whose skin appeared to be made from willow bark began clearing the dishes away, Tamlin stood up and said, 

"I'll escort you to the bathing chambers, and after your bath, I'll take you up to your room for the fitting." 

"_F_-_fitting_?" I gasped, as I followed him out of the great hall. "But...but...my lord Tamlin...surely..." 

"I cannot you have wandering about my court in rags," Tamlin interrupted. "Some of my subjects...might get the wrong idea. And as it stands, you only have one good dress, and you're wearing it _now_. I don't know how you ended up sleeping in a stable, but judging by the fact that your sister was marrying a man who appeared to be of considerable status, it stands to reason that you must come from a family of similar status. But from the clothes you have with you now, people would think you're a scullery maid."

"My Lo-" 

"I told you to call me Tamlin." 

"_Tamlin_," I corrected myself. "You misunderstand. I am _not_ a lady-not in any sense. My father was a middling merchant, my mother his housemaid, and I am the bastard that resulted from their love affair. While my true-born sisters do indeed have noble blood, it's only on their mother's side, so for practical purposes they inherit nothing. I, meanwhile, am as baseborn as baseborn can be." 

Tamlin gave me a confused look. 

"What do you mean by _true-born_? And what does your sister's mother have to do with their inheritance?" 

"I... I mean that my sisters were born within the bounds of wedlock," I replied, equally confused. "Do the Fae...not have marriage?" 

Tamlin's eyebrows shot up. 

"Of course we have marriage!" he exclaimed. "Why would you think we wouldn't?" 

"You...seemed confused at the idea of a bastard," I pointed out. "A child born out of wedlock." 

"I am confused as to why a child born out of wedlock has less status than one born within," Tamlin said. "And also as to why your sisters inherit, as you say, nothing." 

"Because!" I cried. " Inheritance is determined via the father's line, not the mother's. And a child born out of wedlock is a disrespect to marriage and a sin. Surely...surely you know that..." 

"Well, maybe these things are true among humans," Tamlin mused. "But they are not true among the Fae." 

I blinked in stunned surprise. 

"They're...they're _not_?" 

"No," Tamlin replied. "I have never, in all my life, heard of any distinction between children born within marriage and children born without. All children born to a noble house are children of that house, regardless of the parents' marital status."

Equal legitimacy..regardless of whether or not you were true-born. It was a bizarre concept; one I'd never heard of before. 

Just as I was about to press Tamlin for further clarity on it, however, we arrived at the bathing chamber, which was a vast marble room filled with pools of steaming water, with many staircases leading to the upper floor. Servants scurried about, carrying soap, towels, and dressing gowns.

"The staircases lead to the courtiers' bedchambers," Tamlin explained. "And I'm afraid this is where I must leave you. You see, this is the females' section." 

He pointed to a glass wall, on the other of which there appeared to be a group of male Fae bathing. 

Tamlin gestured towards a squat, middle-aged woman with skin like tree-bark, who was standing next to the pool nearest to us, with a towel wrapped around her arm. She bowed to Tamlin and me. 

"This is the human?" the woman asked, as if she'd been expecting me. Expecting that Nesta would kill a Fae, and that I would sacrifice myself to save her. 

I gulped. This was Prythian, after all. It was magic, and I'd been stupid to forget that. 

"Yes," Tamlin replied calmly. "Alis, this is Feyre, the newest member of the Spring Court. Feyre, this is Alis, your new maid." 

A..._maid_. _I_...had a....maid. I almost collapsed from the shock. 

I...I was _nobody_. A whore's get, a bastard. I was so low, I made _scullery maids_ look highborn. The idea that I...would have a _maid _was_ laughable. _It was...it was a perversion of the natural order!

Luckily, Alis caught me mid-fall. As she did, she gave Tamlin a look. 

"Did you forget to feed her, my lord?" 

"No," he cried. "We just came from breakfast!" 

Alis raised an eyebrow. 

"At any rate," Tamlin continued, taking several steps backward, "I have duties to attend to. I trust I can leave Feyre in your capable hands, Alis." 

Alis nodded. 

"She'll be staying in the Periwinkle Chamber," Tamlin added. "That's where the fitting will be held. Now, I must leave." 

With that, Tamlin left the bathing chamber, and Alis began undressing me with gruff, impersonal efficiency. 

"You're too skinny," she muttered as she unlaced my corset. "There's nothing this thing would even _do_ for you." 

"Poverty does that to a person, ma'am," I replied politely, staring up at the tiny blue flower designs on the high ceiling.

"Ah well," Alis sighed, letting my corset fall to the ground alongside my dress, leaving me in my boots, stockings, and shift. "At least you aren't one of those damn Children of the Blessed." 

The Children of the Blessed were a human cult that revered the High Fae as gods. One the human kingdom of Serast just _barely_ tolerated. In southern Serast, they weren't much of a problem, but in northern Serast, especially near the wall, those damned nuisances were everywhere. 

In Woodwall especially-the village I had lived in with my sisters up until recently-You couldn't walk two feet without running into one of them. Wearing silver bells to attract the High Fae, their goals in life were threefold: one, to convert every human in the world to their cause, two, to send as many humans as possible to the Fae lands, and three, to tear down the wall. The wall being our only protection against the Fae, this was especially jarring to the rest of us, the ones who hadn't chosen to erase five centuries of historical fact to live in a fantasy. 

Surprised that the Spring Court put up with such people, I asked, 

"You...don't just eat them?" 

Alis snorted. 

"Eat them? What are we? Animals?" she guffawed while unlacing my boots. "Oh, no. Even if we wanted to, the High Lord would never permit it. If they do get eaten, it's usually by some creature or another." 

"But then...why do you let them into Prythian in the first place, if you don't eat them and don't like them?" 

"Good question," Alis chuckled as she removed my stockings. "The women don't provide what Tamlin wants from them- indeed, what with their starstruck worship of him, they _can't_-and the men...well, once they find out the High Fae females won't touch them, they just slink off to the human world in disappointment." 

I tried not to think of what my captor wanted the female Children of the Blessed for, and failed. Alis removed my shift and I stepped into the steaming pool, allowing the heat of the water to seep into my muscles.

"Ahh," I sighed. How long had it been since I'd had a hot bath? Too long. Bathing, when it was required of me, was usually accomplished with a bucket of river water, which was cool at best and freezing at worst. 

After the bath, Alis dried me off with a towel, dressed me in a white dressing gown, and then led me up a set of stairs to a bedchamber with pale blue walls, upon which were painted tiny periwinkles. On a table were several swatches of silk, satin, cotton, and fine linen, and sitting in a white chair near the table, was a three-foot-tall woman whose violet hair shot upwards in one messy spike.

The fae woman glanced at me and asked, 

"This is the human girl?" 

Alis and I nodded. 

"My name is Feyre Archeron, ma'am," I said, doing a small curtsy with my dressing gown.

The fae woman laughed. 

"There's no need to be so formal. I am here to serve you, miss, not the other way around! I'm the court tailor, after all-and you can call me Tulip. Pleasure you to meet you, Miss Feyre." 

And with that, Tulip set about getting my measurements, frowning as she did so. Once that was accomplished, Tulip and I set about selecting fabrics. My favorites of which were a turquoise silk with embroidery, another silk, this one a light rose pink, a pale blue satin with delicate silver embroidery, and a mint green cotton with dark green embroidery. Tulip, pleased with my selections, informed me: 

"Now, given that you're very much on the skinny side, I would suggest that an empire waist would be best for you. Also, how do you feel about adding white lace to some of-"

Just then, the doors to the room burst open, and a furious High Fae woman stomped in.

"How _dare_ you!" the woman roared. "How dare you steal _my_ bedroom from me?"

"Um...I'm sorry..." I began, backing away slowly from the furious woman. "But..the High Lord...the High Lord said...he said I was to stay here... I...I...had no idea..."

The woman drew herself up and took a deep breath in. 

"Of course," she hissed. "Of course Tamlin would be behind this." 

"If, by 'behind this' you mean 'revoking certain privileges for bad behavior', then certainly, yes," Tulip scoffed. "He is, after all, our High Lord. He has every right." 

"And what...what did this _human_ do to earn the Periwinkle Chamber?" the woman demanded. "Stroke his cock? Get pregnant with his child? Because she can't have earned it by any _respectable_ means!" 

"High Priestess Ianthe!" Tulip cried. "Why on earth are you being so cruel? The poor thing only just got here!" 

"Well then, she certainly hasn't given a hundred years of loyal service to the court," Ianthe snapped. "Not like _I_ have, at any rate. Something which certainly trumps a little tax evasion." 

"Twenty years of not paying taxes at all can _hardly_ be called a little tax evasion," snarled Tamlin, who suddenly appeared behind Ianthe. "And we both know you've done more than _that_."

Tamlin pointed to a tattoo of the moon phases on Ianthe's forehead and scoffed, 

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're still in Beltane's _favor_ after all that you've done. I'd have thought the goddess would've rejected you _ages_ ago. I certainly would if _I_ were her."

"Then it's a good thing you _aren't_," Ianthe harrumphed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some praying to do to her to counter the curse. You know, the one you goaded Amarantha into placing on us." 

With that Ianthe turned on her heels, her blue robes trailing behind her.

"It's all right, Feyre," Tamlin said, extending a hand to me. "Ianthe is just upset because she can't stand the idea that actions have consequences. Now, I'll see you at dinner-I'm afraid that as High Lord, I have many tasks ahead of me." 

"Th-thank you, my-_Tamlin_," I stammered, slowly walking back towards the table. 

Tamlin walked out of the room, leaving me alone with Tulip and Alis. In his absence, I quickly agreed to the empire waist and lace additions, not knowing enough about fashion to have a good opinion. Satisfied, Tulip walked out with the fabrics, and Alis began dressing me in the linen temple-day dress again. 

"Do you think it's a good idea for me to be sleeping in the High Priestess's bedroom?" I asked Alis as she began lacing up my corset. "I mean, not to speak ill of the High Lord, but if it's such an honor that it requires a _century_ of service-" 

"Yes," Alis replied firmly. "That Ianthe needs to be put in her place. She mismanages _every_ aspect of her service to Beltane-so much so it only _exacerbates_ the curse as opposed to lessening it." 

"Speaking of that," I began. "What is this curse the High Priestess mentioned, and who is this Amarantha?"

"Amarantha," Alis spat, as she tied my petticoats around my waist, "Is a cold-hearted shrew who deceived her way into Prythian, then stole most of the High Lords' powers, and declared herself queen of _all Prythian_. She also put a horrible curse on our poor High Lord-and by extension, everyone here- all because our poor High Lord refused to sleep with her." 

"But Ianthe said...that Tamlin goaded her," I replied, utterly confused, and grateful that Alis was done lacing up my petticoat. 

"He rejected her in a very rude way, if that's what you mean by _goading_," Alis snapped. "But let's face it-even if he hadn't declared that he'd rather sleep with a mortal woman than her-even if he'd said no in the most polite way possible- she _still_ would've cursed us all. That woman _never_ learned to take no for an answer. And that's all I'll say about the matter." 

Alis then finished dressing me and, after combing my hair and putting into a simple braid, she pointed to a door to the left of my bed and said, 

"My room is right there, miss. That's where I'll be if you need me." 

With that, she curtsied, opened the door she'd pointed out, and walked into the small bedchamber it led into, and closed the door. 

Finally alone, I collapsed backwards onto the bed and slowly began to cry. What had I gotten myself into? 


	4. Horrid Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is introduced to Lucien Vanserra. She then finds out that she's meant to break the curse. She doesn't react well to that.  
She is then introduced to Tamlin's advisors and Rhysand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I wanted some body diversity; so I made Lucien short and fat. Fatphobes, don't @ me.  
Also, Feyre learns about the curse EARLY in this version, not long after it's too late. And also, the main thrust of this fix fic is that the male characters will all be on a steady diet of RESPECT WOMEN JUICE.  
Feyre is not going to be coddled, lied to, or manipulated for the sake of plot. At least, not by the good guys.
> 
> Also, I am not a fashion expert, so it's really hard for me to get the dresses right. 
> 
> And the mating bond is going to VASTLY different than in canon. It's going to be organic and based on consent.

I was a human, trapped, for the rest of my life, in Prythian, a lamb among lions. The High Lord of the Spring Court was under some delusion that I was a lady, as opposed to the rotten, good-for-nothing whore's get that I really was- enough to give me a gods-damned _lady's maid_! And I had somehow made an enemy out of the resident High Priestess by sheer virtue of obeying Tamlin. And there was no way out of it, not if I wanted Nesta to live.

But hey. At least Nesta was alive, and allowed to remain married to her husband the Viscount Mandray. And Elain had a roof over her head and was soon to be married as well. My family was safe and happy. That was all I could ask for: that was all I should ask for. 

With that, I eventually steeled myself and stopped crying. I sat up, wiped my tears away, and went to find the kitchens. Perhaps I could find some work there; Tamlin might be under the delusion that I was a lady, but the cook would surely see the truth of things. 

As I made my way down the beautiful corridors lined with paintings of woodland scenes, I accidentally collided into a short, plump High Fae. The paper work in his hands went flying, and I ended up landing on top of him, staring into his merry russet eyes. 

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, my lord!" I cried, clambering off of him and attempting to help him gather his papers. 

The High Fae male chuckled.

"Oh, its alright," he said as he gathered the other half of the papers up off of the floor. "It happens to the best of us."

The High Fae took the papers I'd gathered out of my hands, sorted them, and put them back into order.

"I'm Lucien Vanserra," he said, a jolly smile lighting up his face. "And you would be, my lady?" 

I sighed and shook my head. 

"Feyre Archeron," I replied. "And I'm no _lady_, trust me. I'm just the bastard daughter of a merchant and one of his housemaids. And I'm only here because otherwise my sister would have been executed." 

Lucien looked at me quizzically. 

"Ah," he said. "So you're the latest human girl brought from Serast to try and get rid of the curse!" 

"Oh, no," I stammered. "I...I wasn't _brought_ here... not on purpose! You see, a Fae in the guise of a wolf attacked my sister at her wedding and...and she slew it, but since it was a Fae, that broke the Treaty, and she would have died, but I offered myself in her stead and...and now I'm here forever." 

Lucien sighed and shook his head. 

"Ah, you poor, poor, innocent little mortal girl," he said. "That Fae was _ordered_ to attack you." 

My jaw dropped. 

"W-_what_?"

"His name was Andras, and he was purposely sent by Tamlin to get a human girl to kill him." 

"He...he _was_? But that's..." 

"Technically breaking the Treaty, I know," Lucien interrupted. 

He offered his hand. 

"Come," he said. "Let me take you to the gardens. It's time for the noonday meal, and this will probably go down better if you have some food in you. Goodness knows, you look like you could use it." 

So I followed Lucien to the gardens, which were a celebration of color and a collection of the most beautiful flowers I'd ever seen, neatly divided by a lovely winding path of white cobblestones. Lucien and I sat down at a little white table, upon which was laid scones, pigeon pie, and a crystal pitcher of water. Lucien quickly made a plate for himself and then began making a plate for me. 

Once he had finished serving himself, Lucien then asked,

"So tell me, Feyre: did Tamlin tell you anything about the curse, or did he just let you stew in your ignorance?"

"I..uh, well, the High Lord didn't tell me much, but my...lady's maid, Alis...she said... that your queen, Amarantha-she put the curse on him because he rejected her... advances."

Lucien snorted.

" 'Advances'-what a generous way of putting it. Amarantha didn't make advances on Tamlin, she flat-out _demanded_ that he become her concubine in the middle of the ball! The prospect of which Tamlin was naturally disgusted by, given...oh, her position as the King of Hybern's most sadistic general during the War, the way she slaughtered all of her mortal slaves rather than free them at the War's conclusion, and, oh, of course, the way she'd tricked the High Lords into giving her sanctuary based on the lie that she'd reformed and that the King of Hybern was out to get her, only to repay that kindness by enslaving them all to her will and declaring herself queen and defiling the Mountain by making it her court." 

I shuddered. Alis had made clear that Amarantha wasn't the best of people, but what Lucien had told me...it curdled my blood. 

Lucien took a big bite of pigeon pie and continued indignantly. 

"Amarantha, naturally, being the horrible witch she is, naturally chose to respond to his understandable refusal by casting a curse which, in a year's time, would turn every living creature in the Spring Court to stone. Unless, of course, Tamlin could, and I quote, _earn the love of a human girl_. She added that little caveat because Tamlin said he'd rather sleep with a human than her-a more than reasonable preference, in my opinion."

"And....the High Lord...Tamlin hopes that I'll fall in love with him?" I gasped. 

"Yes," Lucien scoffed, "Despicable, isn't it? He sacrificed one of the Spring Court's most admirable so that he could rope some poor human girl into a relationship."

Yes. Yes it was. He'd deliberately ordered this...Andras person to attack my poor sister...so that he could cart her off and make her love him. On her wedding day, no less. 

I felt my hands balling into fists as I sat there with Lucien, my anger boiling within me as I started to rise. 

Before I could, however, Lucien placed his hand on one of my fists, insisting, 

"Eat. You can't punch a High Lord of the Fae on an empty stomach."

I then glanced at my plate, my hunger returning in full force as I grudgingly began to eat. The food being amazing, I ended up scarfing it down like no tommorrow. I was halfway through the process of doing so when who should appear behind Lucien but Tamlin himself. 

"In my defense," he said calmly. "It has been almost a year since Amarantha laid her curse, and since you now know how much time she gave me, that means the clock is ticking." 

I looked back up from my plate and glowered at Tamlin. 

"You still put Nesta in danger," I snapped. "Based on a _lie_, no less. You _intended_ for that...for _Andras_ to die. And on her _wedding day_, no less." 

"Yes, but so many of my subjects have already been turned to stone," Tamlin countered. "And with the year drawing so quickly to a close, should I have prized the freedom of one human over the lives of my subjects? Is that what you believe?" 

"You could have asked any girl from Serast to come with you," I snapped. "There's a whole cult of fools who would have been thrilled to have a High Lord of the Fae take an interest in them." 

Tamlin laughed bitterly. 

"You mean the Children of the Blessed? Believe me, Feyre, that little cult has been my main source of potential saviors for the past year now. None of them have been able to do it. You see, desire for a man's wealth and power is _not_ the same as true love. Nor is idealizing someone into a perfect lover." 

"Even if that's true," I replied, my voice trembling with rage, "And they all really were that shallow-do you have no respect for the fact that my sister is _married_?!" 

"I did not realize she was getting married until too late," Tamlin replied. "Your human marriage customs are foreign to us. And when I found out, I was fully willing to give up the enterprise." 

"By _killing_ her?" I cried. "On charges you purposefully engineered?" 

Tamlin hung his head in shame. 

"It pains me to admit it, but yes. I am grateful, truly, that you chose to intervene when you did, Feyre. Not only did it save me from unnecessarily executing an innocent woman, but given what little I've seen of her, I do not think she could have saved us even if she wasn't married. Her heart is too cruel and too selfish." 

"You...you dare-" 

"Not only did she not bother to thank you for saving her from certain death, her parting words to you were 'good riddance,'" Tamlin said, apparently completely fine with insulting the woman who he'd planned to be his dupe. "Not to mention, she made you sleep in the _stables_ when there were usable rooms for you in her dwelling. In the _wintertime_."

"Because I'm a _bastard_!" I cried. "I deserve no less! You don't know her- she may not like me, but she can be very generous when she wants to be. Why, she actually let me attend her wedding! Me! Her bastard half-sister!" 

Lucien sighed and shook his head. 

"I was afraid this would happen," he said. "That once she found out the truth she'd hate you and we'd be doomed." 

"Doomed?" I scoffed. "Can't he just kidnap someone else?"

"No. We've only a month until the year runs out," Lucien told me. "And whenever we've tried to persuade girls who AREN'T part of the Children of the Blessed, they've said no, every time. Which is understandable, but not good for us. Plus, the curse also specifies that the girl must come _willingly_, so regular kidnapping is out of the question."

"But lying to me counts as my coming of my own free will?" I complained. 

"Since you chose to come here to save your sister, I'm afraid it technically does," Lucien said with a sigh. "And since we're not going to find any other willing human woman who ISN'T one of the Children of the Blessed-and we've already established that gold digging won't cut it-I'm afraid you're our only hope, Feyre." 

A wave of sadness washed through me at the thought of an entire kingdom of innocent people and animals, turning to stone all because some Fae queen was angry at their lord.

"Many of my subjects have already turned to stone," Tamlin added. "You saw how empty the palace grounds were when you first arrived. Many more will follow them at the year's end."

Tamlin got down on one knee and said, 

"I understand your anger, Feyre Archeron. Your sister's life was endangered by my scheme, and you rushed to save her, only to find that you were confined to live here until false pretenses. And now you must live your life in the Spring Court, never to see your family and friends again. And for that, I am sorry. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

"Well..." I began, my anger having cooled somewhat, but still being present. "You can begin by inviting Nesta and Elain over to visit me in a week's time. And also the Widow Mallory and her cook, Padma." 

"Done," Tamlin announced. "I shall send the invitations posthaste. Any other requests?" 

"Some...painting supplies would be nice," I mused, unused to being in a position where I could demand things from people. "Canvases, paint tins, paintbrushes." 

"You shall have them by the morrow," Tamlin assured me. "Anything else?" 

"Umm...that's it for now. I'll...think of some other things later. I'll...go back to my room and paint." 

Tamlin sighed in relief as I rose and began walking towards my chambers. It was not until I got there that I realized the enormity of what I had done. 

I, a bastard child, had been unspeakably rude to a High Lord of the Fae! And then I'd had the _gall_ to demand things of him! He, Tamlin, the High Lord, who had already given me far too many things that were beyond my station!

I sank to my knees in shame. What had I done? 

Ah well. At least I could see my sisters once before I died. Which, apparently, would be in exactly one month unless I entered into a deeply inappropriate relationship with Tamlin. 

To distract myself from the enormity of the mistake I'd made, and of course, everyone's impending doom, I asked Alis for some canvases, and once she procured them, I set to painting. 

When I normally painted, I painted something I'd seen lately that I found to be so beautiful that I just had to try and capture it on canvas, so as to immortalize and preserve it. Thus, had I first seen the Spring Court under more normal circumstances, it would have been the first thing I painted once I got my hands on some paintbrushes. Since I was in said Court via deceit and because Nesta would have died if I wasn't, scenes from anywhere in Prythian were the last thing I wanted to paint. So instead, I chose to paint scenes from the human world, a place I would never see again.

I painted Nesta in her beautiful wedding dress, saying her vows while gazing at the Viscount Mandray. I painted Elain gardening in the tiny garden near our cottage at home. I painted the Woodwall village market. I painted the woods where I used to hunt, the Widow Mallory's house and fields, Padma hard at work cooking in the kitchen, the baker taking bread out of his oven. 

I did not limit myself to maudlin pastoralist pieces, however. I painted our home in Seraston as well, and of the life we'd led before we lost our money. I painted eleven-year-old Nesta and nine-year-old Elain having a tea party with their dolls, I painted the old cook giving my younger self a pastry, I painted Papa in his study, working on his accounts, then my parents' wedding day, and finally, the portrait which most affected me-a portrait of my mother, on her first day as Madam Archeron. 

In my painting, she stood at the top of the grand staircase of our old home, wearing a dark green dress made of rich velvet. Her light brown skin glowed faintly from within, and her deep brown hair, which had just the lightest kiss of gold in it, was put in a loose braid, and she smiled as she stared at the viewer with those beautiful upswept, rich brown eyes of hers.

Those eyes were one of the few gifts from my mother I still had, since we'd had to sell everything else to pay our various debts. And even though the painting was far from complete, looking at her still brought tears to my eyes. 

Before I could burst into a fit of sobbing for my poor mother, I heard a gasp behind me. I turned and saw that it was Alis. 

"I...I...how do you know _her_, my _l_ady?" Alis murmured, appearing to be in shock. 

"She's my mother," I replied, utterly perplexed by Alis's reaction. "How do _you_ know _her_?" 

"I...I..." Alis stammered. "Never mind. I came to tell you, my lady, that it is time you were dressed for dinner." 

"Dressed...for dinner? But...according to Tamlin, this is the best dress I have right now," I said, gesturing down to my linen temple-day dress.

Alis smiled. 

"Tulip is the Spring Court's finest tailor, my lady," she said. "It was no trouble for her to make a gown for you to wear for this evening." 

With that, she revealed a gown made from the soft pink silk I'd chosen that morning, one which had to be the most gorgeous gown I'd ever owned in my adult life. Granted, given that my adult life had thus far been spent in poverty, that wasn't saying much. But still, Tulip's creation was absolutely breathtaking. 

It had an empire waist, as we'd agreed upon, elegant circular flounce sleeves, and delicate white lace around the neckline. It looked like it was fit for a princess.

My jaw dropped. Tamlin...he'd had the court tailor working on a dress for me the whole day. And I'd repaid his kindness by snapping at him at lunch.

"It's...beautiful," I breathed. "Tell Tulip that I said thank you." 

"I will, my lady. After you're dressed." 

And with that, Alis efficiently undressed me and then re-dressed me in Tulip's wonderful pink creation. She then put my hair in a half-up, half-down style and declared that I was ready for dinner. She then escorted me into the great hall, where Tamlin, and up onto the dais, where Tamlin, as he had at breakfast, was sitting in the central chair of the table. Only this time, he was not alone at the high table. Lucien sat directly to Tamlin's left, and next to Lucien, was an enormous, bald High Fae whose face was all sharp angular features and thin white scars. Next to him was a cheerful-looking woman who looked exactly like Tulip- only her hair, while it still shot up in a messy spike, was bright pink.

Tamlin beamed when he saw me. 

"Feyre," he said, "You look lovely tonight." 

He gestured towards the chair in his immediate right, the one I'd sat in at breakfast.

"Come, sit," he said, "Let me introduce you to my council." 

I gulped nervously. It had been one thing to sit at his right hand this morning, when the great hall was empty. But now, when it was filled with Tamlin's subjects...

Still, I dared not disobey. I obediently sat where he commanded me to, and Alis then proceeded to curtsy and exit the great hall. Once she was gone, Tamlin set about with the introductions. 

"This," Tamlin began, gesturing to the bald High Fae, "is Taureg, my highest-ranking general and my advisor on military matters. This," 

He gestured to Tulip's doppelganger, 

"Is Iris, the court Treasurer. She handles matters of taxation and finance." 

He then gestured to Lucien, 

"And you already know Lucien Vanserra, who holds the distinguished position of being the Spring Court's chief diplomat to the other courts, and one of my oldest friends." 

The servants then came around and started pouring wine into everyone's goblets. As they did, Tamlin smiled and said, 

"Everyone, this is Feyre Archeron, a lady from Serast, who is here in place of her sister-" 

"To partake in your hundredth attempt to stop the curse," Taureg interrupted, rolling his eyes as he did. "Honestly, my lord, why do you continue with this foolishness? Not a single one of these girls you bring even comes _close_ to falling in love. Not to mention, most of them are intolerable gold diggers, and the few that _aren't_ keep winding up dead in the garden. Why don't you just give this poor thing back to her family and see sense? Everyone knows curses can't be enacted if the caster is dead-"

"Not this again," Lucien groaned.

"Taureg, you know full well what happened to the last person who tried to assassinate Amarantha," Iris snapped. "She had the assassin disemboweled in front of that entire wretched court of hers, and his patron, one of High Lord Beron's sons, was tortured for a week and then beheaded."

"I still can't believe my father supports her after she did that," Lucien said with a grimace.

"Lord Beron has always been a coward," Taureg grumbled as he took a swig of wine. "Pardon me for saying so." 

"No offense taken," Lucien assured him. " I haven't been on the best of terms with him for a while now." 

Just then, who should finally arrive but Ianthe herself, and when she took one look at me, her face immediately became contorted with rage. 

"Why is _she_ sitting there?" Ianthe roared. "It's bad enough that you gave the Periwinkle Chamber, but to sit her in my spot? How could you, Tamlin?" 

"She is my guest," Tamlin said calmly while I shrank in my seat, "And your position is tenuous as it is, High Priestess. You're only on the council at all because your position as High Priestess entitles you to a seat. The moment the augur divines a successor, be assured I will evict you from that seat posthaste." 

Tamlin gestured to a chair at the foot of the table, far away from everyone else. 

"No, go sit over there and try not to further disgrace yourself," he commanded. 

Ianthe grumpily walked over to the chair Tamlin pointed to, sat herself down, and sulked. The servants then arrived with a clear soup which smelled absolutely lovely. Tamlin waved his right hand, and the entire assembled court began eating. I took my cue and eagerly began devouring the soup. 

Midway through, a High Fae male appeared out of thin air on the dais. And not just any High Fae male. One who looked way too much like the prince in my dreams. 

Ever since I'd turned nineteen, I'd had dreams in which I talked with the most beautiful man in existence. These dreams were always tinted with a soft pink haze, and for some reason in these dreams, I had the distinct feeling that someday I might be in love with him. 

Up until now, I had dismissed these dreams as just that: mere dreams. After all, even if my prince was real, I was still a bastard, and he was a prince.

But here my dream prince was, in the flesh. Same lustrous blue-black hair, same luxurious golden-amber skin, same violet eyes flecked with silver, same muscular chest, same sensual grace and mouth. 

And he looked just as stunned to see me as I was to see him. 

"Why, hello, Rhysand," Tamlin said with a smile. "I wasn't expecting you this evening." 

"Who-who is- who's _she_?" Rhysand stammered.

"Ah, yes. But of course. This is Feyre Archeron," Tamlin explained, gesturing towards me. "My guest. Feyre, this Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, and one of my few allies in these difficult times." 

My dream prince...was not only _real_, but a High Lord of the _Fae_, too? My cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was bad enough that an entire court's salvation relied on my sleeping with Tamlin. The last thing I need was another potential inappropriate liaison with someone far above my station.

"Why don't you join us, Rhys?" Tamlin said, gesturing towards the chair next to me. Rhysand awkwardly obeyed, shuffling towards the chair next to me and sitting down in it.

"I didn't think you were real," Rhysand gasped as a servant rushed to give him a bowl of soup. 

"Neither did I," I breathed.


	5. Forgiveness and Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhysand and Feyre find out that they might end up becoming soulmates, and agree to try not to spend time together. Feyre forgives Tamlin for his initial deception, and receives visitors.  
Ianthe tries to imprison Feyre, only to have it blow up in her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is literate in this version. Her illiteracy was poorly established, and not a very good flaw.
> 
> Also, the thing about Fae food being magically coercive or whatever is going to be not true, and also not a THING in the OBBABB setting.  
Also the Fae are not immortal in this version. Because a monarchy with heirs makes no sense with an immortal species.

"How did you even _get_ into the Spring Court?" Rhysand asked, eyes wide with disbelief as he started eating his soup. "Last time I checked, the Wall seemed pretty sturdy." 

"It is," I assured him. "Tamlin brought me here to serve out my sister's sentence."

_ And also to try and seduce me_, I grumbled inwardly, my anger returning as I remembered how Tamlin had tricked us. 

"Your sister's..._sentence_?" he exclaimed.

"My sister...broke the Treaty by killing one of the Fae," I explained, fighting to keep my voice under control. "Andras, I think his name was. Tamlin would have executed her, but I intervened and he agreed to let me live here so as to spare my sister."

"Andras..." Rhysand gasped. 

Rhysand's eyes turned toward Tamlin. 

"This wouldn't be the same Andras you were talking about sacrificing so you could trick some human girl into coming here and falling in love with you, is it?" he growled. "Because I made my feelings on that particular plan very clear."

He'd...plotted this out with _Rhysand_? The High Lord of a wholly different court? Just how many people knew about this? Did the entirety of Prythian know? Were they all expecting me to have Tamlin's babies by midsummer? 

"You are not the High Lord of the Spring Court, Rhysand," Tamlin said calmly."I am. And therefore, I am the one that must make decisions for the welfare of my people."

Decisions which included sacrificing one of your own subjects and endangering the welfare of poor mortal women who had nothing to do with this stupid curse. 

Rhysand's eyes darted towards me, horrified, and then he said: 

"Feyre, can I borrow you for a moment?" 

"Um...sure," I replied, although I had no idea what Rhysand could possibly need to say to me that couldn't be said in front of Tamlin.

Rhysand then rose from his seat, and I followed suit, letting him lead me out into what appeared to be a study of sorts. 

"You've been having dreams of me that are colored by a pinkish haze, correct?" Rhysand asked anxiously. 

I nodded. 

"Have you been having dreams like that of..._me_?" I asked.

"Yes," Rhysand replied. "And listen to me very carefully, Feyre. These are not ordinary dreams. They're the beginning of the soulbinding process, which, long story short, binds two people who are meant to be soulmates together for as long they both live." 

"Soulmates? But...I'm a human and...you're a High Lord of the Fae," I pointed out.

"It doesn't matter," Rhys explained, shaking his head. "The soulbinding process doesn't discriminate by class, race, or even gender. Normally it happens between Fae, but it can happen between a Fae and human as well, and I've even heard of it happening between two humans. What matters is that if you're supposed to be Tamlin's last hope for saving the Spring Court, then we need to do all we can to make sure the process is rejected." 

"R-rejected?" I asked. "What does that mean?" 

"If the two end up not getting along, the soulbinding process stops and just...fizzles out, leaving them exactly as they were before," Rhysand said. "The bond can also be broken if they become lovers and one lover is abusive towards the other. So what we need to do from here on out is steer clear of each other, because the more we interact-at least, the more we interact in a civil manner, the stronger the soulbond will become." 

"That...hardly seems like a good plan, my lord," I pointed out. "Can't we just make a point of being mean to each other whenever we see each other? After all, if cruelty is enough to break a soul-bond..." 

"Not if it's fake," Rhysand interrupted. "The dislike must be genuine in order to break the bond. As well as any cruelty."

"Hm. I see," I mused. "So...we're just going to have to avoid each other at all costs and hope that does the trick. And that Tamlin somehow manages to miraculously procure my love within the coming month despite what he did to me." 

Rhysand chuckled. 

"An apt summary of the situation," he said. "Now that we have our business concluded, shall we return to the Great Hall?" 

"And awkwardly avoid conversation while sitting right next to each other?" I replied. 

I shrugged.

"We'll have to give it our best shot," I concluded. 

"A shot which will inevitably be lousy despite being our best," Rhysand admitted, extending his hand. 

I took his hand and with that, we reentered the Great Hall, where we found that they had served the next course, which was venison. Very good venison, too.

"So...Iris," I began, desperate to not converse with either Rhysand or Tamlin, "I notice you look an awful lot like...like the court tailor. Are...are you related?" 

The entire table burst into laughter. 

"What...what's so funny?" I asked. 

"Oh, Miss Feyre, you really did just arrive here yesterday, didn't you? " Iris guffawed. "Tulip and I are _twins_. The famous Spring Court twins, no less." 

"The....famous twins?" I cried. "Did...did you used to be part of an acting troupe or something?" 

"Were we in an acting troupe? " Iris wheezed, causing everyone to burst out laughing once again. "Oh, Feyre, you're hilarious!" 

"Twins are a rarity among the Fae," Tamlin explained softly. "Iris and Tulip are the first twins to be born in a hundred years."

"Our parents used to take us on tours across all of Prythian," Iris said, taking a few deep breaths as she did. "Just so that everyone could see us and know we were the real thing. Eventually, though, we reached adulthood, and that's when Tulip put her foot down and decided she wanted a normal life."

"Do you miss being famous?" I asked. 

Iris chuckled. 

"Oh, child, the real question is, _did_ I miss being famous? And the answer to that is yes-enough to be the first lesser Fae to get onto the High Lord of the Spring Court's council." 

"First...._lesser Fae_?" 

Rhysand sighed. 

"Yes, I know. Tamlin's father was rather backwards," he complained. "Every single court has at least one lesser Fae on its High Lord's council of advisers-and has for some time now. Meanwhile, the Spring Court only got its first lesser Fae minister _three decades ago_, a move which every sane Fae would agree was vastly overdue."

"Wait...why were you denying government positions to the lesser Fae in the first place?" I asked, utterly confused and hopelessly out of my depth. "Also, who are these lesser Fae?"

Rhysand sighed and shook his head. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot that you're a human. The lesser Fae are any Fae who differ drastically from humans in their appearance-besides having the pointed ears and longer limbs that mark you as a High Fae."

"We're what the human parlance would call _peasants," _Iris explained."With the High Fae being our nobility. Only the peasants actually ARE a different species from the nobility." 

"Which was, of course, my father's main reason for never appointing a lesser Fae to his council," Tamlin said as he took a sip of wine. "According to him, the High Fae were created by the Cauldron to rule, and the lesser Fae were created to serve." 

Tamlin then rolled his eyes. 

"A view which I, naturally, do not share," he said. "The lesser Fae and the High Fae might be different species, but we are far less different from each other than we are from mortals on the whole. And last I checked, the treasurer Iris replaced was High Fae, and he'd made an absolute _mess_ of the Spring Court's finances."

"I...see," I replied.

Dinner passed in an otherwise pleasant fashion-the council members peppered me with questions about my life back in Serast-what my family's trade was, what I did for a living, how many siblings did I have-things like that. I answered all of their questions truthfully, although when I discussed my sisters they ended up coming to agree with Tamlin, much to my dismay. 

Eventually, Taureg had the nerve to ask me:

"How aware, exactly, are the human monarchs about Amarantha?"

"I...I...I beg your pardon?" 

"Does your human king know that Amarantha has recently come to power in Prythian?" 

"Um...I don't think so?" I replied nervously. "I mean, I'm just a simple peasant girl, but I never heard her name mentioned before, not even by the nobles my sisters courted, until I entered Prythian. So my guess would be no, His Majesty King Silas isn't aware of her at all." 

Rhysand dropped his goblet onto the floor in horror, causing it to shatter into a million pieces. Taureg immediately began cursing up a blue streak. 

"This is not good," Rhysand muttered. "Not good at all." 

"What? Why? What's wrong, my lord?" I asked. 

"Because," he said, "I've heard Amarantha say she plans to contact the king of Hybern and tear down the wall so she can conquer the human realms in the near future." 

Rhysand stood abruptly and declared, 

"I'm sorry, Tamlin, but I have to return to court. I need to send an emissary to Serast to warn the human king. He needs to be prepared for when the times comes." 

With that, Rhysand walked out of the great hall without so much as a goodbye, and the next thing I heard was the sound of giant wings being unfolded, and then someone taking flight. 

After that, I excused myself from the table and declared that I was retiring for the night. Alis was waiting for me there, reading a book. As she undressed me for the evening, I couldn't help but feel that I was in over my head when it came to these faerie politics. Between learning I was supposed to save an entire Court from an evil tyrant's curse, earning the enmity of a High Priestess guilty of tax evasion, and somehow being dangerously close to becoming another High Lord's soulmate, my brain was spent. This was not how I imagined my imprisonment going at all. Oh, no. The reality was, despite being infinitely more luxurious, somehow worse. 

But if there was one thing I did know, it was this: that I couldn't just let everyone in the Spring Court die. Yes, I might hate Tamlin for forcing Nesta into narrowly abandoning her husband and/or dying, but what kind of a monster would I be to let so many innocent people die? People like Iris, Tulip, and Alis, who hadn't done anything wrong? 

So, like it or not, I was going to end up following in my mother's footsteps-falling for someone way above my station, only for the greater good. Which, first things first, meant I was going to have to find a way to forgive Tamlin. I couldn't demand painting supplies and visits from my family and forever. 

The next morning, the painting supplies arrived, and they were the most beautiful, and most extensive set I'd ever seen or owned. 

There were paint tins for every hue I could possibly need or imagine-pretty pastels, and bold, bright colors, which varied from the brightest, palest tints to the darkest shades of each. And there were all kinds of paintbrushes, too: there were paintbrushes with soft hair and hog bristles alike, and the bristles were shaped in a wide variety, from the most delicately tapered bristles to the widest mop and fan styles.

"His lordship said you can send me for as many canvases as you like," Alis added upon seeing me gawk at the supplies. "Whenever you need them." 

"I...I have to go thank Tamlin for this," I gasped. Not bothering to get dressed, I rushed out of my chamber and down to Tamlin's study in order to thank him. Just as I reached the door of Tamlin's study, however, before I heard Taureg's voice say inside:

"Six more were turned to stone this morning, Your Lordship. A...farm family on the northern border, to be specific." 

"Almost the entire northern border is lost," Tamlin sighed. "It's not a border anymore so much as it is a very large statuary." 

It was really that many. Oh dear. Poor Tamlin. How cruel I was to resent him when he was in such a predicament.

"Send a message to Rhys," Tamlin ordered. "We'll have to redouble the relocation efforts."

"Yes, my lord," Taureg said gravely. He then opened the door, only to find me standing there. 

"My...Lady Feyre," he said nervously. "Did you want something?" 

"Uh...only to thank His Lordship for the painting supplies," I stammered. "They...they came today, and they are...most exquisite." 

I quickly stepped out of the way to allow Taureg to pass, and then gestured and said, 

"After you." 

Taureg bowed and muttered his thanks, then walked out of Tamlin's study, allowing me and Tamlin to come face to face once more. 

"You are most welcome, Feyre," Tamlin replied casually. "Now, is there anything else?" 

"Ah, yes," I replied. "I...I wanted to that I...no longer resent you for tricking me. You...you're under so much pressure, I see that now-" 

Tamlin smiled. 

"You overheard me talking to Taureg, didn't you?" 

I nodded. 

"I had no idea things were this bad," I confessed. "I mean, people are already turning into statues? That's horrible!" 

"I know," Tamlin assured me. "Which is why I will do everything I can to prevent it." 

"And so will I," I agreed. 

Before Tamlin could reply to that, a soldier came running up to him, screaming, 

"My lord! There are humans at the gates!" 

Both of us started back. 

"H-humans? But...but my sisters and the Widow Mallory aren't due 'til the end of the week!" 

"What kind of humans?" Tamlin demanded, his eyes in full warrior mode. 

"Two women, middle-aged," the soldier panted. "One of them is dark-skinned and dressed like a cook. The other is paler but dressed in black." 

"Are they armed?" Tamlin asked. 

The soldier shook his head. 

"No, my lord. But they were walking up to the palace as if they had...business here. They kept...they keep demanding to see your human guest." 

I burst out laughing. 

"Gods above," I cried. "It's the Widow Mallory and Padma!" 

Tamlin's face was a mess of confusion. 

"You mean...the other two humans you asked me to invite?" 

"Yes," I laughed. "Except it appears they came here of their own volition!"

Tamlin grimaced, clearly not knowing what to make of this. 

"S-send the humans to the gardens," he ordered. "Tell them that Feyre will join them there so-as soon as she's dressed. Oh, and prepare some breakfast for them." 

***

Padma and the Widow Mallory sat anxiously at a table, refusing to so much as touch the food spread before them. When they saw me, their faces burst out in relieved smiles. 

"Oh, thank goodness!" Padma cried. "You're all right!" 

"She's more than all right," the Widow Mallory gasped. "Is that...is that a new dress?"

I glanced down at the pink creation Tulip had made for me yesterday, and then smiled at them. 

"Yes," I replied. "Tamlin had it made for me."

"Tamlin...as in, the one in charge of this place?" 

"The High Lord of the Spring Court, yes," I told them. 

I sat down and gestured to the food. 

"Now, come, eat," I said. "You must be very hungry after your trek through the woods." 

Padma and the Widow Mallory each took a nervous first bite, before slowly beginning to eat properly. 

"He...he hasn't hurt you, has he?" the Widow Mallory asked, searching me for any bruises or scrapes. 

I smiled and shook my head.

"Oh, no," I assured her. "And I don't believe he ever means to."

Both Padma and the Widow Mallory sighed in relief. 

"Thank the gods!" they both cried in unison. 

"Padma, Widow Mallory, you do realize he said when he took me that he_ wouldn't_ kill me?" I pointed out. "You really shouldn't have come all this way for-"

"Feyre, you were taken to _Prythian_ by a mysterious Fae, sentenced to live the rest of your life here to pay for your sister's crimes!" Widow Mallory cried. "How could you _possibly_ think we'd be able to live with ourselves if we didn't at least _try_ to see if you were unharmed?" 

"That, and rescue you if you were," Padma added.

"Fair point," I conceded. "But there's no need to worry. Tamlin would never hurt me. It seems I'm far too valuable to him for that. In all honesty, my fate appears to be more along the lines of living the way the Children of the Blessed have always longed to." 

Padma snorted. 

"The...Children of the Blessed? You mean those idiots with their bells? Don't tell me their stupid nonsense is real, now!" 

I shook my head and chuckled. 

"Oh, no," I said. "As a matter of fact, it seems that the Fae find them just as annoying as we do. But nevertheless, I seem to have accidentally stumbled upon what they believe is the ideal life: living in luxury in Prythian, potential Fae husband-now all I need is to get pregnant with a half-breed brat, and I'm golden!" 

My friends' eyes widened in horror. 

"He...set you up with a husband?" the Widow Mallory cried. "That quickly?!" 

"No...not exactly," I replied. And thus I launched into an explanation of Amarantha's curse and how I needed to fall in love with Tamlin to save everyone in the Spring Court from a grisly death. I left out the fact that I might accidentally end up High Lord Rhysand's soul-mate if I wasn't careful, partially because I had every intention of falling in love with Tamlin, and partially because I didn't want to terrify them. 

"Oh...oh my," Padma groaned. "This is...this is worse than we feared." 

"But...how?" I asked. "All I have to do is force myself to fall in love with Tamlin before the month is up, and everything will be fine!" 

"But if you don't...you'll be turned to stone," Widow Mallory pointed out. 

Oh. She was right. I hadn't thought of that. 

"Well...I'm sure Tamlin will send me away if I fail to fall in love with him before the month is over," I said. "He's already relocating his people to other courts in case the plan fails." 

"But what if the curse doesn't just apply to the physical location of the Spring Court, but membership in it as well?" Padma demand. "If that's the case, you and everyone else who lives is doomed no matter where they are!" 

I gulped. That was indeed a frightening prospect. 

"Nevertheless," I insisted, laughing nervously as I did, "We have to _try_. After all, giving up just guarantees you'll die, but trying at least allows for some hope of survival!"

"That is a fair point," Padma conceded. 

"So...how are " I asked, desperately attempting to shift the conversation away from the Spring Court's fate. 

Widow Mallory half smiled. 

"Well, since we've spent the past two days wildly scrambling through the woods in a half-baked attempt to save you," the Widow began," I'm afraid we can't say much on their current state of affairs." 

"But when we saw Nesta last, she was climbing into a carriage headed for her husband's manor with a smug expression on her face," Padma scoffed. "So she's probably either still on the road or enjoying playing lady of the manor." 

"Speaking of which, I put Elain in charge of the farm before we left," the Widow added. "So she's probably having the time of her life spending all my money and snogging Isaac Hale." 

I chuckled. 

"Sounds like they're doing well."

"They are," Padma replied. "Or at least, they will be, until Nesta finds out about Isaac." 

Widow Mallory then stood up and cleared her throat. 

"Well, it's been lovely, Feyre, but I'm afraid we must go. My farm won't manage itself, after all."

"Alright then," I replied, curtsying as I stood up. "I guess I'll see you in a week." 

Both Padma and the Widow Mallory faces were a mess of confusion. 

"A..._week_?" Padma asked. "But...but" 

"Oh, did I not tell you? I got Tamlin to send invitations to both you and my sisters inviting you over here in a week." 

"R-really?" Widow Mallory stammered. "Well...that should be..._interesting_." 

"Yes," Padma agreed, eyeing my new gown up and down. "_Very_ interesting." 

"Oh...oh my!" I gasped, suddenly realizing exactly how well Nesta was going to take the way Tamlin had chosen to ignore my proper status. "Well, I'll be sure to wear my older clothes when I see her, then."

And also, completely omit _anything_ regarding any flirtation with either Tamlin _or_ Rhysand. And hide the painting supplies. And take my supper in the kitchens. 

"Oh, child, Nesta's envy is the _least_ of your problems," Widow Mallory sighed. 

"_Envy_?" I cried, as I escorted my friends out of the gardens. "I am just an exceptionally well-treated prisoner. Nesta is a full-fledged _viscountess_!"

Both the widow and Padma burst into peals of laughter.

"Oh, you sweet, naive girl, " Padma sighed.

Before Padma could elaborate on that statement further, who should we run into but Ianthe?

"_More_ humans," she sneered. "As if one wasn't enough. At this rate we'll be positively overrun within the week." 

"I...they're just about to leave, High Priestess Ianthe," I stammered. "Don't worry." 

Padma elbowed me in the side. 

"You're going to be the consort of a Fae lord!" she hissed. "Have some _backbone_!" 

"Yes, but right now, I'm a bastard serving a sentence for my sister," I retorted. "And an overly _pampered_ bastard at that. I can't be in the business of giving my hosts lip!" 

High Priestess Ianthe smiled evilly. 

"Right you are, Feyre. Now, when you're done showing these vermin the door, why don't you go up and scrub the chapel for me?" 

"Right away, High Priestess," I replied with a curtsy. I then attempted to steer my friends away from Ianthe, only for the Widow Mallory to stand firmly in place, mouth ajar. 

"You have...the _gall_ to order your lord's suitors around as if they were parlor maids?" she cried. 

"Oh, please, human," Ianthe scoffed. "Suitor is _far_ too dignified a word for what Miss Archeron really is. We all know she's just a tool for..._Tamlin_ to use to escape the consequences of his own folly."

"His folly?!" Padma spat. "Since when is refusing to have sex with someone folly?" 

Ianthe glowered at Padma and the Widow Mallory, and then, with a snap of her fingers, transformed them into mice.

"That's enough out of you," Ianthe scolded the mice. "Now, scurry off to the gutter where you belong." 

My mouth ajar with horror, I knelt to scoop my unfortunate friends up and put them in my pocket.

"H-how _could_ you?" I cried, horrified.

Ianthe appeared to be utterly taken aback by my protest. 

"What do you mean, _how could I_?" she cried. "_They_ were the ones who had the _gall_ to talk back to me! Me, the High Priestess of Beltane!" 

At hearing this, I felt a small ball of anger welling up within me, nothing quite like the rage I'd felt when I'd learned the real purpose of Tamlin's threats against Nesta, but nevertheless powerful enough for me to snap: 

"Well, turning everyone who gives you lip into rodents is hardly becoming of a High Priestess, is it now?"

Ianthe's face paled in rage and shock. Her eyes narrowed as she seethed, 

"So...you've hardly spent a single night in the Spring Court and already you think you're the expert on the duties of a High Priestess?" 

"All I know is," I retorted, glowering right back at her. "That the priestess in charge of the temple at Woodwall _never_ would have lost her temper in the face of a little back talk. And _she_ is only the priestess of a backwater human village." 

Ianthe then grabbed my arm and began dragging me through the corridors. 

"I've had enough of this," she hissed. "It's time to put you in your place, little human." 

Eventually, Ianthe thrust open the doors to a beautiful oval-shaped room made out of marble, along the walls of which were enormous frescos depicting stories about Beltane. At the end was a massive altar, upon which was an enormous statue of the goddess Beltane herself. Several Fae women in white sleeveless dresses knelt facing the statue in prayer. 

All of whom turned to gaze in shock as Ianthe tossed me onto my knees and then screamed, 

"As punishment for talking back to me, little whore, you will scrub the chapel floor until it shines. And when you're finished with, you will scrub the altar. And if I see a single speck of dirt-" 

"But High Priestess," a small Fae girl in the row nearest the door protested, "Morning prayers have not finished yet. Your guest, however she has transgressed you, cannot-" 

"Quiet, novice," Ianthe hissed. "You are not high priestess. I will decide when morning prayers are over, not you."

"And apparently, you can decide not to show up for morning prayers," a willowy, red-headed girl at the head of the group remarked. "Morning prayers which you're supposed to lead. You know, with your being our exalted high priestess and all."

Larina got up, walked over to us, and glanced down at me. 

"Is this...Tamlin's _human_ guest?" she asked dryly, her eyes narrowing. "I wasn't aware he had given her over to _your_ authority."

"She has behaved badly, Larina," Ianthe seethed. "Now get everyone out of here so I can get on with punishing her. Unless you want to join her in scrubbing the chapel." 

Larina stood straight and looked Ianthe right in the eye. 

"Only novices can be ordered to scrub the chapel," she said matter-of-factly. "And I am not only a full-fledged priestess, but your _successor_, as chosen by Beltane's oracle. And I highly doubt the High Lord has any intention to give this human over to Beltane's service." 

"Very well," Ianthe snapped. "I may not be able to make you do menial chores, but as I am still High Priestess by Beltane's decree, I can still punish you for your insubordination in other ways." 

Ianthe then snapped her fingers, and a vine suddenly curled its way around Larina's ankle, then tightened it in a way which caused Larina to fall to the floor and give a sharp cry of pain. 

"Are you okay?" I cried, immediately rushing to her side. 

Larina glanced at her ankle and sighed. 

"A nasty sprain, but I believe I'll be fine. Thank you, human, for your concern." 

Larina struggled up to her feet, turned to Ianthe, and scoffed, 

"How very impressive. You performed a trick every junior priestess fresh out of novice-hood knows how to perform. And you didn't even perform it _correctly_. Truly, you are _blessed_ by Beltane." 

With that, Larina limped out of the chapel. Ianthe, her face beet-red with fury, immediately roared, 

"Everyone out!" 

The assembled priestesses and novices, not eager to antagonize the high priestess, immediately rushed out of the chapel. 

Ianthe then opened the door to a secret closet, got out a bucket of water and a rag, and shoved both into my hands. 

"I'll be back in two hours," she hissed. "If the chapel isn't spotless by then, you'll suffer ten times what Larina did." 

With that, she turned on her heels, stormed out of the chapel, and then snapped her fingers, causing the doors to slam shut behind her. 

Stunned, I immediately put the rag in the bucket and began scrubbing. 

Wow. Alis had not been kidding about Ianthe's management of her duties. While I wouldn't quite be so bold as to claim that Ianthe's behavior was causing the curse to go haywire, nothing I had seen indicated, to my knowledge, a properly run priesthood of any sort. 

For one thing, neither the priestess in Woodwall nor any priest I'd ever seen in Seraston would _dream_ of being caught skipping out on morning prayers. And I was fairly certain they would never try to deliberately injure their successors for giving them lip. And whatever the rules regarding the priestly life were in the Spring Court were, I was fairly certain high priestesses were not supposed to be casually break them on a whim, or be upbraided by their subordinates for doing so. 

Whatever it was, it was certainly a priesthood in complete and utter disarray. 

Not unused to hard work, it was about an hour and a half when I was finished scrubbing the floor. I was just about to start on the altar when suddenly, out of thin air, who should appear but Rhysand, of all people? 

"My lord!" I gasped, struggling to my feet. "I...I had thought we agreed not to speak to each other!" 

Rhysand half-smiled. 

"We did," he agreed. "But then, when dropping in to discuss the relocation plans with Tamlin, I found a flood of priestesses making quite the commotion about how Ianthe broke up morning prayers and broke her successor's ankle all so she could order some _human_ to scrub the chapel. And that's when I figured you were probably in some trouble." 

I chuckled. 

"Oh, I'm fine. My friends, on the other hand..." 

I pulled Padma and the Widow Mallory from my pocket to show Rhysand. 

Rhysand's eyes widened. 

"You've befriended the vermin already?" he quipped. "My, that's quick." 

I sighed. 

"No...they're _humans_! Or...they were, up until Ianthe transformed them into mice."

"Where on _earth_ did Ianthe find more humans to transform into mice?" Rhysand cried. "Did she cross the Wall?" 

"No. They...they came here. To rescue me," I explained. "They were worried about me. They thought Tamlin might have hurt me." 

I lowered my eyes to the now sparkling floor. 

"And now they've been hurt," I sighed. "And it's all my fault." 

"But Ianthe was the one who turned them into mice," Rhysand pointed out. "Technically, that makes their predicament _her_ fault." 

I threw up my hands in defeat. 

"Does it matter? We need to change them back somehow!" 

Rhysand sighed. 

"I'd love to, but unfortunately, transfiguration is not one of my strong suits," he told me. "And first, we have to get you out of here. Tamlin's about to blow Ianthe's head off." 

"Well, I don't think Ianthe locked me in," I said, walking over to the doors. "She just shut the doors behind her with magic. It shouldn't be too difficult to leave." 

Unfortunately, try as I might, the doors would not budge. 

"Don't bother," Rhysand told me. "We can just winnow out." 

"Winnow? Is that you-" 

"Seem to appear out of thin air?" 

Rhysand grinned. 

"Yep. It's a pretty common ability. You just need to train for it." 

"Then why did it take two days for Tamlin to bring me here if...everyone can do it?" 

Rhysand's face darkened. 

"Because Amarantha took that ability away from most of the High Lords when she stole the majority of our powers," he explained. "I alone was left with the ability as a 'reward'." 

"A reward for what?" 

"I'd rather not talk about it. Now, I'll just put my arms around you and we'll be out of here in no time." 

And with that, Rhysand wrapped me up in his arms, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Nothing happened. 

"Um...does it take a while?" I asked. "To winnow?" 

Rhysand opened his eyes, saw that we were still in the chapel, and scowled. 

"No," he growled. "Ianthe must have warded the chapel so that nobody could winnow out of it. In case Tamlin ordered Lucien to rescue you." 

"So we are trapped." 

Rhys stared at the walls and, then, all of a sudden, two enormous jet-black wings burst out of his back. 

"Not exactly," he replied. 

Rhysand then punched the wall, causing it to crumbled and create a massive hole big enough to fly through. He then looked at me and said, 

"Put your mice back in your pocket. It's going to be a wild ride." 

I obeyed, and then Rhysand swept me up in his arms and flew out of the hole in the wall and into the outdoors. 

I glanced down and found that we were high above the gardens, in which several Fae were milling about, unconcerned with the High Lord several feet above them. 

"Wow," I gasped. "Do you do this often?" 

"Do I rescue damsels from evil priestesses on a regular basis?" Rhysand quipped. "No, I'm afraid my duties as High Lord leave very little room for that." 

"No, I mean, flying." 

Rhysand sighed. 

"I'm afraid I don't do that as often as I like either," he confessed. "Amarantha ensures that I spend a fair amount of time in her court under the Mountain with her. But today is an exception." 

With that, he beat his mighty wings and we were off, soaring through the sky. I shrieked with delight as the wind rushed through my hair and nipped at my face, savoring each wonderful second in the air.

At last, we found ourselves hovering over the entrance to the palace, and Rhysand land and gracefully set me back down on my feet. 

"Thank you, my lord," I said, my heart beating fast as I stared into Rhysand's beautiful violet eyes. "For saving me." 

"You're welcome, Miss Archeron," Rhysand replied, his cheeks flushing. 

And just like that, I felt the smallest tug of a bond begin to grow between us. The soulbond. 

"We should...we should probably get inside," Rhysand said, apparently having felt it too. 

"Yes," I agreed. "We should." 

And with that, we re-entered the palace and Rhysand ushered me into a throne room where Tamlin appeared to be holding court from a throne made of fossilized wood with flowers intertwined all around it. The entirety of the Spring Court appeared to be gathered there, filed into two separate crowds on the western and eastern walls. And on the ground in front of Tamlin was Ianthe, her hands bound as two sentries stood on either side of her. 

Tamlin sighed in relief when he saw the two of us enter. 

"Feyre," he gasped. "I'm so glad you're alright." 

"It's alright," I reassured him. "I honestly didn't realize I was imprisoned until Rhysand came to rescue me." 

"He shouldn't have needed to do that in the first place," Tamlin pointed out, returning his attention to Ianthe. 

"Since Feyre has been returned safe and sound, I will _not_ execute you for treason," he declared. 

"Punishing an uppity mortal is hardly-" Ianthe protested, but Tamlin held up a hand to silence her. 

"However," he continued. "Since you not only imprisoned Feyre in the chapel, _and_ ordered her to commit sacrilege in cleaning that which is only for those of Beltane's service to clean, but also disrupted the morning prayers to do so, and _deliberately_ injured your successor as chosen by Beltane," 

He gestured to Larina, who was currently lounging in a chair with her injured ankle raised to his right, 

"You _will_ be imprisoned for the remainder of the week." 

Ianthe's jaw dropped. 

"You-you have no right-" 

"Need I remind you, High Priestess, that not only are you guilty of all of the above, but also of refusing to pay your taxes for twenty years?" Tamlin snapped. "And of hiding my aunt's misdeeds."

"You benefited from those misdeeds!" Ianthe cried.

"If by _benefited_ you mean that I rose to the position of High Lord a full _century_ before I should have and _lost my father_, than yes, I benefited," Tamlin roared. "If you mean in the way anyone with a heart would mean it, than no, I most certainly did not."

Tamlin sighed.

"Honestly, I _should_ imprison you for the rest of your life, but since we only have a month before we all turn into statues, that would probably guarantee your death. Guards, take her away!" 

The sentries on either side of her grabbed Ianthe and were about to take her away before I cried, 

"Wait! Before you do that, could you have her...turn my friends back to normal?" 

Everyone paused and turned to stare at me as I withdrew the two poor, long-suffering mice from my pocket. 

"They're not mice," I explained as I walked over to Tamlin. "They're my friends-the ones who stormed the castle looking for me earlier this morning. Ianthe...turned them into mice because they stuck up for me." 

Tamlin's eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. 

"Oh, is that so? I...wondered where your friends were in all this commotion."

Tamlin then glared at Ianthe and said, 

"You know very well that what the Treaty says about harming humans, High Priestess." 

"I...I just transfigured them into mice-it's not like I killed them or anything!" 

"No," Tamlin admitted, "But in their current form, they're a great deal easier to harm. They could have, say, been eaten by a cat, or killed by one of the maids-you take your pick of what harm could possibly befall a mouse! Now, change them back before I send you to the king of Serast so he can punish you for breaking the Treaty!" 

"Fine," Ianthe growled. "Bring the little creatures here." 

I obediently brought them before her, and placed them on the ground in front of her. She snapped her fingers, and immediately Padma and the Widow Mallory were back in to their real forms, looking quite terrified. 

"Well..._that_ was an adventure," Widow Mallory gasped. 

"Quite," agreed Padma. 

Tamlin nodded to the sentries, and they once again grabbed Ianthe and dragged her away. 

The Widow turned to Tamlin and asked nervously,

"If it...pleases Your Lordship, we'd like to go home now." 

"Certainly," Tamlin replied. "I shall have some horses saddled for you in the stables."

The Widow nodded and said with a respectful curtsy, 

"Thank you, my lord." 

Tamlin then summoned a servant and ordered him to take my friends to the stables. After bowing and nodding his assent, the servant then quickly led my friends out of the throne room. 

"Is there anything else she has done I should be made aware of?" he asked me. 

"N-no," I stammered. 

Tamlin then snapped his fingers, and the guards seized Ianthe again, and then proceeded to drag her out of the throne room. 

Tamlin then turned to Rhysand and said loftily,

"I thank you, High Lord Rhysand, for your timely rescue of my guest. Is there any way I"

Rhysand smiled.

"No need to thank me," he replied. "I only did what was necessary to keep the peace. Speaking of which, now that things are settled, I believe we have business to discuss." 

Tamlin nodded. 

"Yes," he said. " I believe we do."

Tamlin stood up and glanced towards me. 

"I will expect you in the gardens at midday for lunch," he said to me. "Until then, feel free to explore to spend the next few hours as you like." 

"Thank you, my lord," I replied with a curtsy, "I look forward to seeing you at midday." 

And with that, I left the throne room, and after asking directions from a passing servant, I made my way down to the stables to say a second farewell to my friends. 

The Widow Mallory was in the process of mounting her horse when I arrived. 

"Well! Hello, Feyre! What are you doing here?" she asked, briefly stepping back onto the ground. 

"I'm just here to say goodbye to you both," I assured them, "For the...second time today." 

"Oh, yes, right. I suppose that's proper, considering we probably won't be here at the end of the week," the Widow Mallory replied.

"What? What do you mean?" 

"It's not that we don't appreciate your company-we do-" the Widow Mallory explained, It's just that after being turned into mice for an hour, I believe the both of us have had as much adventure as we can stomach for now. 

"Yes, that bit of flying business probably took ten years off my life," Padma pointed out as she stood waiting for her horse.

"Aye, I almost threw up in your pocket," the Widow added. "Nothing pleasant about that experience, at least for us. I imagine it was different for you, though, flying in the arms of a beautiful man." 

"Yes, it was," I admitted, foolishly allowing myself to smile and blush at the memory. "It was wonderful." 

"We won't be leaving forever," Padma assured me. "We'll try and come back again, if we can. But it'll take two days to get back home, which leaves us only two days before we'd have to ride back if we wished to visit by the end of the week. Frankly, we need more of a rest than that." 

I chuckled. 

"I understand," I said. "Say hi to Elain for me." 

The stable boy then led Padma's horse out to her, and Padma began to mount it.

"Farewell, darling girl," the Widow Mallory said as she re-mounted her horse. "I'll miss you." 

"Goodbye, Feyre," Padma added after she'd mounted her horse. "Best of luck with Tamlin." 

"Goodbye, Mrs. Mallory, goodbye, Padma," I replied. 

With that, the two of them rode off into the woods. I waved to them, and then I made my way back into the palace and towards my quarters. Once there, I flopped down on my bed and sighed.

So, it only took one amazing rescue from a tower to making the soulbond start growing, did it? That was not good.

What would happen if Rhysand complimented me? Just...platonically complimented me? Or consistently came over for dinner? He and Rhysand seemed to work very closely together, it was entirely possible that he would, despite his best efforts, be around no matter what he did. And the more he was around, the stronger the soulbond could potentially become, that much was clear to me now. 

To distract myself from these thoughts, I set myself to painting once again, this time of the Widow Mallory as I had seen her today-in her somewhat filthy but still elegant hunting attire, warming her hands near a fire at night with Padma.

I was a quarter of the way done when it was time to meet Tamlin for lunch in the gardens. 


	6. No Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre chats with Tamlin and grows accumstomed to Spring Court life. Tamlin and Feyre try to fall in love, but are stymied by Tamlin's rank, age, and life experience.   
Meanwhile, the bond between Rhysand and Feyre fails to diminish, despite neither seeing each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -So yeah, I changed the immortality thing, because it's stupid to have heirs when the Fae are immortal.   
-I wanted Tamlin and Feyre to not have a relationship for realistic reasons, not like in canon where Tamlin does a 180 from nice guy to domestic abuser. Thus the age gap troubles.   
There will be no Ron the Death Eater in this fic.

"You look lovely today, Feyre," Tamlin said as I approached his table in the gardens.

I blushed.

"Thank you," I replied as I hastily curtsied and sat down opposite from him.

As I carved myself a slice of pheasant and put it on my plate, Tamlin said, 

"So, Feyre, there's a question which has been on my mind for quite a while now." 

"Oh? What is it?"

"Your sisters, as you mentioned, are of noble blood, and your father at one point was successful enough as a merchant to hire servants. So...how is it that your house in Woodwall is so run-down?" 

"It's...it's an old property," I explained, scooping salad onto my plate. "My grandfather bought it from the baron, intending to transform it into a hunting lodge. He never got around to it, though." 

Tamlin's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

"How did you come to _live_ in your grandfather's would-be hunting lodge?"

"It...was the only place we could afford to live after we lost our fortune."

"And how, exactly, did you lose your fortune?"

"My...my father bet everything we had on a single investment, which he believed would make us wealthy beyond measure. Instead, it beggared us. We had to sell everything we owned, including our house in Seraston." 

"But...your father's wife...she was of noble blood. Did...she not have enough money to save you?" 

I shook my head and burst out laughing. 

"Oh, Lady Valhemia had _long_ since packed her bags and left by then. She wouldn't have lifted a finger to save him even if my father _begged_ her to." 

"She..._left_? Why would she-" 

"_Leave_?" I chuckled. " You do recall my saying I was a bastard, right? The product of an affair outside marriage?"

Tamlin furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Yes, but-" 

"Well, you can imagine she wasn't exactly thrilled to learn my father had cheated on her." 

"_Cheated_?"

"Yes, cheated," I said. "As in, slept with another woman while he was married to her. Is there no such concept among the Fae?" 

"Well, it is common for High Lords and High Ladies to have multiple romantic partners," Tamlin replied. "But that does not usually induce such anger that it causes a partner or spouse to leave. It can cause jealousy, and insecurity, certainly, but not anger to that level. And when it does, it usually has more to do with the offending partner's deceit or the breaking of a specific promise." 

"Ah. Well, we humans...when we get married, we typically promise that we will only have sex with our husband or wife. At least...we do in Serast. I'm told that men in Bharat do often take multiple wives, but that's neither here nor there." 

Understanding began to dawn on Tamlin's face.

"And...your father's first wife...she was mad that your father had broken this promise." 

I smiled. 

"Yep. She was. Enough to throw her wedding cuff into the fire and pack her bags immediately." 

"I see," Tamlin said. "So then, since your father had broken this promise, this Lady Valhemia would naturally not be on good terms with them. But what about your sisters? Surely she cared about their well-being?" 

I shook my head sadly. 

"I'm afraid not," I explained. "The day she left, she told my father that my sisters were '_his_' and that she didn't care what he did with them."

Tamlin's eyes widened. 

"She...willingly abandoned her own children?"

I nodded. 

"Yes. And when she left, she took her money with her, so the only money we had was my father's." 

"Wow," Tamlin gasped. "What a selfish, heartless shrew." 

I laughed nervously. 

"My father would agree with you there," I said. "He was quite glad to be rid of her; he couldn't sign the divorce papers fast enough. According to him, he'd never even _liked_ Lady Valhemia. He compared being with her to having a millstone around his neck." 

"Then why did he marry her?" Tamlin cried. " Why did he agree to only ever have sex with her for the rest of his life?" 

"He married her because my grandfather told him to," I explained. "It was an arranged marriage. My grandfather was trying to get our family a noble title, and he hoped that marrying into nobility would speed that process along. As to why he promised to only take her to bed, well...it's the custom. Getting married and promising to never bed anyone else...well, you can't do one without doing the other, at least not in Serast."

"Hmm, I see." Tamlin mused. 

He stared down at his plate for a while, and then said: 

"Speaking of your father, there is another thing that troubles me. I do not recall seeing your father at the wedding. Nor your mother, for that matter. Where are they?"

"Dead and buried," I replied. "And for a long time now. My mother fell ill with influenza when I was eleven, and my father was killed by a rogue Fae not two weeks after we arrived in Woodwall."

Tamlin's eyes widened in horror. 

"A rogue Fae?" he gasped. "Do you know which court he belonged to?" 

I shook my head.

"No," I replied. "I did not witness the attack. My sisters did, however."

"Did they describe the culprit at all to you?" 

"They..." I racked my brain for information. "They said the culprit was male, with fangs and claws and eyes like a cat. Also, cat ears." 

Tamlin stood up and began pacing around. 

"Hmm...that sounds like one of the Lesser Fae," he began. " But not any Lesser Fae within the Spring Court. The Lesser Fae within my court are mostly gnomes like Iris and Tulip, or Urisk like your maid Alis, or pixies or water-wraiths. The culprit might hail from the Winter Court-there are lots of beast-like Lesser Fae there-but the Winter Court is too far north. Still-I should probably ask Kallias if any criminals have escaped the Winter Court..." 

"Why are you so nervous?" I asked, utterly perplexed by Tamlin's behavior. 

"You don't understand," Tamlin said. "The same rules that force you to be here also force me to find the culprit and hand him over to your king for justice. Because if I don't, that's a violation of the Treaty. And I only have a month to fix this before...before..."

"Don't worry yourself, Tamlin," I replied. "It was six years ago. And besides, death by Fae is common in the north. Especially if you're too poor to protect yourself."

Tamlin gritted his teeth in anger. 

"That...only makes it worse. Because now I have who knows how many criminals I have to find and send to your king! I can't...I can't possibly capture and deliver them all within a month!"

Tamlin glanced at me. 

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm afraid I must cut this short-I need to start questioning the Wall sentinels immediately." 

With that, he left, leaving me to finish lunch all by myself. 

* * *

* * *

The next few days that followed fell into a pattern. In the mornings, I woke up, bathed, and then ate the breakfast which Alis brought up to me in my quarters. Alis then dressed me for the day and I spent the hours until lunchtime exploring the palace. Tamlin had given me free reign to go everywhere except the dungeons underneath, which were marked off by guards. As the dungeons currently housed Ianthe, I had no desire to go there anyway, making this a restriction I was more than happy to follow. 

My explorations led me to discover a multitude of wondrous places: a gallery filled with paintings of what must be Tamlin's ancestors, a beautiful ballroom whose walls were made of mirrors, the kitchens where tiny pixies worked alongside faeries who looked similar to Alis to provide the castle with its meals, the servants' quarters, which had both ordinary-sized bedrooms for the other servants, and tiny bedrooms for the pixies, a library whose walls, when not covered in books, seemed to be taken up entirely by windows to the outside. 

I also discovered, by accident, Tamlin's quarters, and made a mental note never to go in there. I then kicked myself for making that note, since I would, if I successfully fell for Tamlin, have to reside there at some point. In much the same fashion I also discovered the quarters of Tamlin's council members, although this discovery was filled with far less complicated feelings. 

Then, eventually, midday arrived, and I would have lunch with Tamlin. These subsequent lunches were far more pleasant then the first one, in that I did not accidentally cause to panic over large numbers of Fae breaking the Treaty in them.

Nevertheless, he would still update me upon his investigation into the Fae who murdered humans, to which I would nod along politely. He would then ask me about my life in Woodwall, to which I would answer truthfully. And when I did, Tamlin would scowl and seemed to dislike my poor sisters the more I told him about them. A trend which greatly disturbed me; for I had never intended to besmirch my sisters' reputations or bad-mouth them in any way. By midweek I had to put a moratorium on talk of Woodwall to avoid inadvertently damaging their reputations any further. 

Unfortunately, these lunches did not bring me any closer to falling in love with Tamlin then when I'd first arrived, nor he with me. Not because I didn't like him-on the contrary, I admired him a great deal. 

It was just that he was, well...intimidating. It was just too hard to forget that he was a High Lord of the Fae where I was a baseborn, bastard human, especially as I began learning more about him. 

Tamlin, it turned out, was at the tail end of what the Fae called their "lesser majority". The "lesser majority", being a period of adulthood where a Fae was an adult, but considered a very new one, the rough human equivalent was a human's late teens/early-to-mid twenties. 

The Fae, apparently, were not immortal, but in fact lived only about three hundred years on average; any Fae older than that was considered to be very old, the way a human in their late nineties was, and was expected to die at any minute. They divided this lengthy but still relatively limited time into four rough periods of life; childhood, and three periods of adulthood known as a Fae's lesser majority, proper majority, and old age. 

A Fae's "lesser majority" started when they became nineteen, and ended approximately around a hundred years in age. At the latter age, they were then considered to be in their "proper majority", where they were full adults. The human equivalent for this was roughly from one's early thirties to one's late fifties. The end of a Fae's "proper majority", Tamlin told me, was exactly 250 years old, and from that age they were considered elderly, in the sense that anyone in their sixties-to-early eighties was. 

Thus, this led to quite the awkward situation between us, since to Tamlin, I was just barely an adult, because I was only nineteen. Whereas I was intimidated by the sheer chronological gap between us. And even ignoring that and concentrating just on his looks and personality, I still felt like a child compared to him; while he did not feel old, like I was being courted by a middle-aged widower, Tamlin certainly came across like he was nearing the end of his youth and was looking forward to middle age, like a man a year or two away from turning thirty. 

It was not just age, however; oh no, it was also the experience with age. Unlike me, Tamlin was not a virgin; even before he'd needed to court human women, he had had plenty of experience with the opposite sex, both in and outside of the bedroom. He talked about sex and love with as much calmness as he did the weather, which flustered me and made me very small and insignificant. 

And there was just the general way he carried himself and lived his life. He went through life with a calm, quiet dignity, an assurance in himself as a High Lord and as a man that reminded me constantly of my own lowly status. 

Thus, with all this between us, our relationship became not so much one of romance so much as a platonic one, which worried me to no end. Tamlin himself was not so concerned about this, saying that romantic relationships took time to build. A saying which did little to reassure me, especially when I considered soulbonds. 

Speaking of those, Rhysand kept his word and did not once see me all week, much to my frustration. I loathed myself for this frustration, saying that I could not afford to let the soulbond grow between us, especially with so many lives depending on my falling in love with Tamlin. 

I chose to spend the afternoons painting. Sometimes I painted more scenes from home, other times I painted things in the Spring Court. Tamlin sometimes stopped by to admire my works; once he even offered to hang my works up in the gallery, to which I blushed and stammered my refusal desperately. 

"What a shame," Tamlin would reply, shaking his head sadly, "You are a prodigious talent, Miss Archeron, and it would be a shame to keep your gifts hidden away." 

To which I blushed furiously and secretly ate up, for it had been ages since anyone had praised my paintings. 

And at night, after dinner, when I went to bed, I had, every night, without fail, pink-tinted dreams where I chatted and danced with Rhysand in a beautiful white ballroom, with big windows that revealed the most beautiful night sky in the whole world. 

In each dream, Rhysand reminded me, without fail, that we were not supposed to be having this dream, and wondered how we were having it when we only met twice. I, for that matter, could not help but think the same thing. 

Thus, on the morning of the day my sisters were to arrive, I bolted out of bed with a smile on my face. Finally! At last, a break from it all, and perhaps, maybe, even a solution. After all, Nesta was married, and Elain was soon to be so herself. And both of them, before their current relationships, had courted older men; perhaps they would have some advice for me and my current predicament. 


	7. Jealous Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Elain arrive. Their visit consequently turns into a disaster. Rhysand saves Feyre from a beating. Tamlin calls Elain out on her and Nesta's behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I am not proud of Rhysand using violence, but at least it wasn't in response to slut-shaming like in ACOMAF. Feel free to dislike him for it, though.   
\- Also, I apologize for making Feyre faint.

The day my sisters were to arrive, I had Alis dress me in my old temple-day linen dress. I had an infinite amount of prettier gowns, of course, thanks to Tamlin and Tulip, but wearing any of them risked making it seem like I was putting on airs, that I had forgotten what my station in life was, and thus incurring their wrath. 

I also took good care to hide my painting supplies, in case any tours of the court they went on included my lodgings. I also had Alis take down the lace canopy which hung over my bed, and change the silk sheets with plain linen ones.

"I fail to see why you wish to downplay your luxury," Alis mused as she stored the silk sheets in a cabinet under my nightstand. "Most humans would leap at the chance to show off." 

"Because I am a bastard, born of a middling merchant and a maidservant," I explained carefully, as I tucked away the delicate porcelain jug and basin into a cabinet below the washstand. "And while Lord Tamlin may not understand the lowly nature of my status, my sisters absolutely do. And they would be most offended if they found out I was afforded luxuries so far above my station." 

"That says more about them than it does you," Alis muttered as I replaced the porcelain jug and basin with clay ones. 

I took a look at the Periwinkle Room and sighed. Even with the bed stripped of its luxury, it was still far from spartan. The chairs still had white velvet upholstery, and the table, nightstands, and washstands were still made out of mahogany, and so was the bedstead. 

It was not the ratty servants' quarters or dungeon my sisters were expecting, and that I deserved. Rather, it was more like the apartments of a well-to-do, respectable middle-class woman, and it was still far finer than my sisters' own rooms in the cottage were. Or, rather, had been-Nesta no doubt had finer rooms as a viscountess now. 

But it would have to do. 

So with that, I made my way down to the palace entrance, where Tamlin was currently waiting, dressed in a high-necked gold tunic which only made him look more lordly. 

Not a minute afterward, a carriage drove up to the palace steps, escorted by Tamlin's sentries. The carriage door opened, and out walked my sisters, both bedecked in wondrous finery. 

My sister Nesta was the very picture of what a viscountess should look like: her hair was piled high on her head in an elegant bun, and she wore a beautiful navy blue velvet gown with lavender embroidery. A fur wrap graced her elegant shoulders, and around her neck was the same gold necklace with sapphires that she'd worn on her wedding day. Yet, for some reason, despite her newfound wealth, she appeared unhappy. 

Elain was dressed much more simply, but still very well; her hair was looser, and her gown was that of a lovely light green satin with white flowers embroidered on it. Around her neck was an elegant pearl choker. However, her gown's sleeves were remarkably short, and she wore no fur or gloves, unlike Nesta. What was more curious, however, was that she _also_ appeared to be rather cross, which puzzled me until I saw that Elain also wore an iron cuff around her wrist. 

So she was married, then. Good for her! But to whom? And was it this marriage, perhaps, that was the cause of this mysterious unhappiness? 

"Greetings, sisters," I said, curtsying as I did. "I see you look well."

Rather than reply, Nesta simply harrumphed in disapproval, then glared at Elain, who glared right back. 

"Allow me to introduce you to Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court," I said, gesturing towards Tamlin, "You may have met him before at the wedding-he was in beast form then. Tamlin, this," 

I gestured to Nesta, 

"Is my sister, the Viscountess Nesta Mandray. And this," 

I gestured to Elain, 

"Is my other sister, Elain...whose surname I now know not." 

"It's Hale," Nesta said bitterly. "She is plain, ordinary, Mrs. Elain Hale. Against my orders, you'll note." 

"I may not have a fancy noble title, sister," Elain snapped. "But I am just as rich as you are." 

Oh dear. Elain had married Isaac Hale, then. And Nesta had found out. That explained much. 

Tamlin looked awkwardly from me to my sisters, grimacing as he did, unsure of how to navigate this strange familial feuding. 

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again, ladies," Tamlin said, ever the polite and well-bred High Lord. 

"The same to you, Your Grace," Nesta said bitterly. She and Elain curtsied, and Tamlin nodded politely to them. 

"Come, let us go to the gardens for breakfast," Tamlin said, gesturing into the palace. 

I had told him not to serve my sisters breakfast in the great hall like he had with me when I'd first arrived, lest my sisters see me sitting next to him and become incensed at him showing me such favor. 

Thus we let Tamlin lead us into the gardens, where a marvelous breakfast awaited us: blueberry scones, bread with butter, bits of beef, and sausage. We all sat down, served ourselves, and began eating. 

"So," Nesta observed as she ate a bit of a sausage, "I see that you have filled out a bit, Feyre." 

I glanced down at myself, and saw that she was somewhat right. The regular mealtimes I'd been having at the Spring Court had caused my ribs to become less pronounced than before, and my chest now boasted the smallest of bust-lines. Of course, I was still rather thin, but unlike when I'd arrived, my body now had the smallest hint of a feminine figure about it.

"Yes," I replied. "His Lordship has been most gracious to me during my stay here." 

Tamlin flinched at the honorific, but said nothing. I had told him ahead of time that I would be addressing him more formally in front of my sisters, as benefited the base-born guest/prisoner of a High Lord, so as not to scandalize my sisters. 

"Gracious, eh?" Elain mused. "Is that what you call lovemaking here in the Spring Court?"

I gasped in horror at the implication. 

"I assure you," I told them, mouth ajar, "That His Lordship has not been improper with me in the _slightest_. My maidenhead is as intact as it was the day I left." 

Nesta shrugged. 

"Pity," she said as she buttered a piece of bread. "It would be only be fitting for a whore's get to become a whore herself." 

Tamlin bristled at the insult, barely restraining himself from replying. 

"So, Nesta," I asked, "How is life with the Viscount Mandray treating you?"

Nesta smiled. 

"Pretty well," she said. "The wedding night was a bit delayed, owing to travel to his estate-" 

Nesta then launched into a vivid description of the Mandray estate, how big and luxurious it was, how much land the viscount owned, how Thomas was planning on taking her to court after their honeymoon so she could be presented to the king and queen, etc. 

At the tail end of her diatribe, she added, 

"Of course, it's not all perfect. If Elain hadn't completely disregarded my advice, we could _both_ be visiting court together." 

"Yes, because it would be so worth sacrificing my happiness and quite substantial fortune just to hob-nob with Mother's set," Elain snapped, rolling her eyes. 

"He's using you as a stepping stone to join the nobility," Nesta cried. 

"Well, at least he's not using me for my _womb_," Elain retorted. 

Nesta and I stared at her, open-mouthed. Tamlin, for his part, simply looked utterly confused. 

"That's right, Feyre," Elain said. "Nesta isn't the first Viscountess Mandray. That honor belongs to some poor fool whose womb was too barren for the Viscount's liking. So he discarded her, and swooped Nesta up to get a brat out of her." 

Elain smirked into her crystal goblet. 

"Not, of course, that you would know anything about that," she added. "At least, not if your maidenhead's as _intact_ as you claim." 

"It is an honor to bear children for a noble house," Nesta snapped. "And at least the _brats_ he gets out of me will grow up to be lords, as opposed to yours." 

"At least my husband's love isn't dependent on brats in the first place," Elain countered. "Even if I never give him a child, I know _my_ Isaac will remain true." 

"That is enough," Tamlin snapped. "Feyre did not invite you here to bicker about your husbands." 

Nesta glared at Tamlin and me.

"Oh, so she's _inviting_ us places now, is she?" she hissed. 

Well. That did it. The secret was out now. 

Nesta turned to me, stood up, and spat,

"Do you fancy yourself our _equal _now, since a High Lord of the Fae has _graciously_ made you his slut?" 

"N-n-no, of course not," I stammered, putting my hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "Y-you are a viscountess, and I am a base-born bastard." 

"How _dare_ you!" Tamlin roared, rising from his chair. "Feyre is _my_ guest, and as such, she is to be treated with respect. Or have you forgotten? You owe your title to her sacrifice, after all." 

"I owe her _nothing_," Nesta snapped. "Except for a box on the ear." 

Nesta glared at me. 

"Come, Feyre," she ordered. "Let us administer your punishment elsewhere, so your precious High Lord doesn't have to see." 

I nodded and rose. 

"Yes, Nesta," I replied meekly, rising to follow her.

Before I left, however, I turned to Tamlin and pleaded, 

"Please. Stay out of this." 

If he intervened, Nesta would not be happy. Hell, she might not be even alive. It was best to accept my punishment and move on.

So I followed Nesta to a more secluded part of the gardens, where Nesta stopped, smacked me in the face, and screamed, 

"You. Are. A. Base-born. Slut. Do you hear me?" 

I nodded. 

"Yes, I know-" 

Nesta smacked me again, this time crying, 

"You will speak when spoken to, whore's get!" 

"Yes, Nesta," I replied, nodding weakly. 

"Good. Now, kneel down and undress." 

I nodded, undid the laces on my dress, revealing my corset and chemise. 

Nesta plucked a switch from one of the trees, raised it over my back, and then-

And then I heard the beating of wings, as Rhysand landed and grabbed Nesta from behind. 

"What. Are. You. _Doing_?" he roared. 

"Beating some sense into this harlot," Nesta replied unflinchingly. "What do you think?" 

Rhysand grabbed the arm that was holding the switch and twisted it, seething in rage. 

"You have no right to touch her," he hissed. "You wicked bitch." 

"Rhysand, no!" I cried, getting up off the ground in an attempt to stop.

"I have no right?" Nesta gasped, utterly shocked by this turn of events. "And just who are you, anyway?" 

"Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court," Rhysand hissed, gritting his teeth in anger. "And if you _ever_ hurt her again, I will personally break _every_ bone in your body, you, pathetic, useless, mortal _coward_." 

"I...I..." Nesta stammered, unsure of what to do. 

"Do you hear me, woman?" Rhysand roared, twisting her arm even further. 

Nesta nodded. 

"I...understand," she said weakly. 

Rhysand then released Nesta and said, spitting, 

"Now, you had best run away and make sure you never show your face here again." 

Nesta, for her part, hobbled away as fast as she could from Rhysand.

When she was out of sight, Rhysand turned to me and asked, 

"Are you all right, Feyre?" 

"Yes," I replied, utterly shocked but very grateful for his presence. "She...she...you came just in time." 

Rhysand then embraced me and cried, 

"Thank Somnus." 

"Odd of you to thank the death god for my safety, but thank you," I told him, sinking into his arms. 

"Somnus is the patron of the Night Court," Rhys told me. "Just as Beltane is the Spring Court's. Of course I'd thank you." 

"Ah." 

The Fae religion was very strange, what with each of its courts having a godly patron and all. 

"Who was that woman, Feyre?" Rhys demanded. 

"My sister, Nesta," I told him, surprised he didn't recognize her. "You know, the one I told you about in our dreams together." 

"Has she done that to you before?" 

I nodded. 

"Many times," I said, "But why are you here? I thought we were supposed to stay away from each other." 

"I'm sorry, Feyre," Rhysand apologized. "I tried. I honestly tried. But then business brought me to the Spring Court again, and then I sensed you were in danger through the soulbond, and..." 

"Don't be sorry," I told him, holding one of his beautiful cheeks in my hands. "I missed you." 

"So did I," Rhysand confessed. "Being away from you has been torture."

"You can say that again," I replied, and with that, I leaned in to kiss him. Rhysand responded in kind, and soon, our lips met in a kiss.

We did not get long in our blissful merging of the lips, however, before I felt a powerful tug from the soulbond. 

Rhysand must have felt it too, for he suddenly pried himself from me as he said: 

"You know what this means, doesn't it?" 

I nodded. 

"Yes," I replied. "The soulbond has grown stronger."

"Too strong," Rhysand agreed. "Goodbye Feyre."

"Goodbye, Rhysand," I said as he took the to skies once more, "I'll see you in our dreams." 

Rhysand turned to me, sighed, and said, 

"In our dreams," 

Before at last flying away, leaving me alone on the ground. 

"Feyre!" Tamlin called out as he rushed towards me. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," I told him. "Rhysand saved me before Nesta could do any real damage." 

Tamlin sighed. 

"Thank goodness," he said. "I was so worried." 

"Shall...we rejoin Elain?" I asked. 

Tamlin nodded, and we then went back towards Elain, who glared at us when we arrived. 

"What did you do to Nesta?" she demanded. 

"Me? I didn't do anything!" Tamlin protested. 

Elain glared at him. 

"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped. 

"I didn't do anything either!" I cried, utterly horrified that Elain would speak to a High Lord in such a fashion. "It...it was Rhysand!" 

"Who's Rhysand?" 

"Another High Lord of the Fae," Tamlin told her, "And one of my friends." 

"Some friends you have!" Elain cried. "He broke Nesta's arm! What gives him the right to do that?" 

"What gives your sister the _right_ to 'punish' Feyre?!" Tamlin countered, his gaze steely as he glared right back at Elain. 

"She is the eldest, and as there are no sons, the head of our household," Elain retorted. "She has every right." 

"Your _household_," Tamlin pointed out, "Has long since been broken up by both of your recent marriages, leaving Feyre the only actual member. But even if it wasn't- what, pray tell, did Feyre do to deserve 'punishment'?"

"I-I..."

"Ever since you have arrived, she has treated you both with the utmost respect, making many pains to ensure your comfort," Tamlin continued. "Even when you insulted her to her face, Feyre did not retaliate. Indeed, she did her _level best_ to keep the conversation civil, something which _neither_ of you even _attempted_, what with your bickering over your husbands and your insults to Feyre. _How_ does any of that justify violence?"

"She...she summoned Nesta like a common maid, though," Elain protested. "To meet with you and-" 

"She most assuredly did not," Tamlin snapped. "She asked me if I could invite you over, a request which I was happy to grant. Is the desire to see one's family so horrid that it must be met with violence?" 

"Feyre isn't-," Elain began, but Tamlin cut her off. 

"Let me tell you what I think," he snapped. "I think that Feyre has done absolutely _nothing_ to merit your appalling treatment of her. She is a young woman of grace, charm, and much kindness. I think you two, by the contrary, are spoiled young women who lord your higher status over your sister in order to feel better about your lot in life."

"Tamlin, that's-" I began, but Tamlin had no patience for my protests. 

"Your mother wronged you by abandoning you as children, this is true," he acknowledged. "Your father wronged your mother by breaking the contract of their marriage. But rather than address your grievances to the proper people, you are you instead choose to take it out on Feyre, who had nothing to do with it except to be born out of wedlock, like the cowards you are. And so she suffers at your hands, and you get away with it because there is no one who can stop you." 

Tamlin took a deep breath and then said, 

"But that is no longer the case. Your household is no more, what with you two having married and Feyre becoming a member of my court. And I will not tolerate you riding roughshod over Feyre for your own self-interest. So as of this moment, I order you and your sister to leave the Spring Court and not return until you are ready to apologize to Feyre for what you have done, and until she, in turn, is ready to forgive you." 

_Me_? Forgive..._Nesta and Elain_? That was a strange concept, _them_ having wronged _me_. 

"I...I..." Elain stammered. 

"Now, go, before I change my mind and decide to revoke my mercy," Tamlin roared. 

Elain obediently got up and hurriedly ran away from us. 

The moment she was out of sight, the full shock of what had happened hit me. 

Many in Woodwall had objected to Nesta and Elain's treatment of me before: Padma, the Widow Mallory, and the fletcher's wife were but a few of the people who found fault with my sisters. But none of them had ever done anything half as serious as Rhys and Tamlin had just then. The closest any of them had gotten was Padma threatening to tattle on Elain and the fletcher's wife lecturing Nesta about my sleeping in the stables. And the fletcher's wife had been driven out of town for her trouble, and Padma had only barely gotten away with what she did. 

But...Rhysand had _broken Nesta's arm_ when she was about to beat me. And threatened to do more if she hurt me again. And Tamlin...he had effectively banished my sisters from the Spring Court because of what they'd said to me. And they had won. No, they could never have lost in the first place; there was no way Nesta or Elain could retaliate against them. 

In what world was I so deserving of such fierce protection? And from such powerful men, too? 

The shock of such a notion caused me to faint right there, Tamlin catching me just before I hit the ground. 

* * *

* * *

I awoke in my bed in the Periwinkle Room, which, I observed, had been restored to the way it was prior to my sisters' visit. Alis was watching over me, knitting in a chair she'd pulled up to my bed while she did so. 

"Ah, you're awake, Miss," Alis murmured. 

She rose and handed me a tray of soup. 

"Eat," she commanded. "You missed luncheon."

Scandalized as I was by eating in bed, I obeyed. 

"Were my sisters able to leave without any trouble?" I asked, ladling soup.

"Ach, forget those blasted hussies," Alis grunted. " They got what was coming to them, if you ask me." 

"Wha-but...but..." I gasped, horrified.

"They insulted His Lordship and tried to harm a member of the Spring Court without provocation," Alis pointed out. "If His Lordship were a lesser man, that'd be grounds for war." 

Dammit. That was a very good point. They had implied that Tamlin was using me for sexual favors. While I wasn't sure how much of an insult that was in Prythian, what with its differing beliefs on love and sex, implying that a nobleman was taking his prisoners to bed in Serast was very much an insult. 

"_Am_...I a member of the Spring Court?" I asked. 

"Effectively, yes," Alis told me. "You might not have an official title or job, but your Treaty-demanded permanent residency here effectively makes you one of us. And depending on what happens by the end of the month, you might very be an official member of His Lordship's household, too." 

"As in...his wife?" 

"Wife, lover-it makes no difference. If you and Tamlin fall in love and consummate it, as a romantic partner you will effectively be part of his household. One could argue you already are-although in what capacity, exactly, remains to be seen." 


	8. A Desperate Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre researches ways to break the soulbond and to force herself to fall in love. Tamlin brings forth a revelation about Mr. Archeron's murderer. Lucien and Rhysand argue about the merits of what he did to Nesta.   
Rhysand explains his position in Prythian to Feyre. The soulbond grows stronger as a result. Desperate, Feyre turns to Ianthe for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I personally don't agree with Rhysand's decision to break Nesta's arm-and I am ashamed to have written it. I know he does worse shit in canon, but still... I promised to put all the male characters on a steady diet of Respect Women Juice. And Rhysand forgot to drink his that day.  
\- And yeah, the idea of Prythian's sexism was stupid to me. I personally find the idea of Fae culture being more progressive than human culture, which some racist Fae could use to justify oppressing humans, MUCH more interesting.  
-And yeah, Rhysand ISN'T a thousand years older than Feyre in this. He's only two years older.
> 
> -And no, nothing good is going to come from Feyre trusting Ianthe. And water is wet.

Alis was right; no matter how much my heart longed for it, I no longer belonged to the human world. In taking Nesta's punishment for her, I had effectively destroyed any and all life I could possibly have there. Not only that, but Tamlin was right too: the Archeron household, as it had existed in Woodwall, effectively no longer existed. Nesta, in choosing to marry the viscount, had given up all the rights she'd had as my father's de facto heir, effectively passing it on to Elain. Who in turn, had also given up that position when she married Isaac Hale.

But even if I had been callous enough to let Nesta die by Tamlin's hands, or to let her go to Prythian-which, knowing her, would effectively be delaying her death by a month-Elain would still have married Isaac, and would undoubtedly have shipped me off to the priesthood to be rid of me. Hell, even if the wolf had never attacked Nesta in the first place, my sisters would still be married, and I would still have been shipped off to the priesthood. Whether I would have succeeded there or not was irrelevant; my sisters would live their lives as respectable ladies, and I would be alone, forgotten. 

The pathetic little life we'd had together in Woodwall, while it had seemed indefinite, had never been anything but a temporary situation; a way-station on the grander journey of our lives. And as Nesta and Elain had moved on to become the Viscountess Mandray and Mrs. Hale respectively, so too must I. 

It was time to leave behind the girl I'd been in Woodwall. My duty was no longer to my sisters, but to Tamlin and the Spring Court. 

And to that end I must proceed quickly; I had less than three weeks to fall in love with Tamlin. And not only had so far failed to do so, I had inadvertently become someone else's soulmate. 

Therefore, one of the first things I needed to do was figure out a magic that could break the soul-bond and take away my feelings for Rhysand. And hopefully, also replace them with feelings for Tamlin if necessary. 

The first day of research went poorly. For the books I had selected confirmed, very clearly, that the only way the soul-bond could be broken was if one partner was cruel and abusive to the other. While they did say that either half of a couple with a soul bond could fall in love with other people and still retain the soul-bond, they also said that this rarely happened.

When I broke for lunch with Tamlin, he did not have any better news for me. 

"I am sorry to say this, Feyre," he told me, "But I'm afraid your sisters may not have been truthful about the cause of your father's death." 

"What?" I gasped. "But...but...why? How?" 

Tamlin shook his head sadly. 

"Kallias of the Winter Court wrote back to me," he explained. "He said that there are no records of any criminals with a beast-like appearance escaping-at least, not within the last hundred years. There was one escaped criminal who matched the description a hundred years ago, but he never made it past the Winter Courts' borders, let alone past the Wall."

"Maybe the killer came from one of the other courts," I suggested, "Or maybe he didn't have a criminal reputation when he left. Maybe he was a normal beast-like Fae who just traveled into your court and then escaped through the Wall." 

Tamlin shook his head. 

"The other courts all said the same thing," he told me. "And there is no record of any beast-like Fae attempting to cross the Wall in any of my sentries' reports. The only beast-like Fae who have been recorded in the Spring Court were merchants, and they only stayed briefly; they immediately went back as soon as they were finished trading goods. None of them were ever recorded as going missing anywhere near the Wall." 

"Perhaps he was a shapeshifter like you?" I said weakly. 

Tamlin sighed. 

"The ability to transform from beast to Fae at will is limited strictly to me and other members of my bloodline," he said. "And not all of my family members developed the ability. I'm sorry, Feyre, but the person who killed your father was most likely a human." 

"A..._human_?" I cried. "But...why would they lie?" 

Tamlin shook his head. 

"Perhaps they mistook him for a Fae in the dark," he said. "Or perhaps the murderer was somebody important in your community, and your sisters dared not implicate him. Either way, I am sorry I had to bring you such distressing news." 

"No, no," I replied, shaking my head. "Thank you, Tamlin. I..._appreciate_ you trying to find my father's killer. It's...it's _nice_ knowing that someone tried to bring him to justice." 

Indeed it was. It had been a harrowing thing, watching him be lowered into the ground, as the priests of Somnus carried their incense burners, knowing that he had been killed but that his murderer was too powerful and too strong to ever need to face justice for his crime. It had felt as if his murder was not by a person, but by a force of nature. 

And at the same time, a boiling rage was starting to burn within me. _Someone_ had murdered my father. Someone who had escaped justice for _six years_ because my sisters had let him. How could they do such a thing? He was our _father_\- how could they let his murderer escape?

I then realized who I was angry with-my sisters, who were also my social superiors. The idea of me being angry with them shocked me to my very core. 

After lunch, on my way to retreating back to the library, who should I find embroiled in an argument but Lucien and Rhysand himself? 

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Lucien roared. "Breaking the arm of a _mere mortal_ like that?"

"That 'mere mortal' was about to _beat Feyre bloody_," Rhysand snapped. "Did you expect me to stand by and let her be hurt?" 

"No," Lucien acknowledged, "But I would have expected you to have more sense than to retaliate with _violence_! And on a _woman_, no less!" 

"If that _woman_ had _succeeded_ in her goal, she would have been met with worse," Rhysand pointed. "Do you think Tamlin would have been so merciful if Feyre _hadn't_ come back uninjured? Are you so sure her sisters would have been able to escape with their lives?" 

"Tamlin is not his father," Lucien retorted. "He is not so easily prone to violence. Unlike _some_." 

"Yes, indeed, Tamlin is _far_ less rash than his father," Rhysand agreed. "And those women are all the luckier for it. For if Tamlin's father was still alive-what they _wanted to do_-hurting a member of the Spring Court, _unprovoked_, who Tamlin is _courting_, no less-would have been _grounds for war_. Recall from your history lessons what happened the _last_ time we warred with the humans. " 

"That is a fair point," Lucien conceded grumpily, "But that does not excuse a _High Lord of Fae_-one of the most powerful High Lords, to boot- enacting violence on a mere human woman. I thought you would know that, Rhysand, considering that you are victim of a similar type of violence at Amarantha's hands on the daily." 

Rhysand glowered at Lucien. 

"I never so much as _met_ Nesta Archeron before that day," he seethed. "_Let alone_ claimed her as my consort against her will like Amarantha." 

Lucien cast his eyes down on the floor on in shame. 

"I'm sorry, Rhysand," he said. "I forgot that your current situation with Amarantha wasn't entered into out of your own free will." 

"It's alright," Rhysand replied. "Most of Prythian doesn't even know that that's the case. And you are right-I am a High Lord of the Fae. Nesta Archeron is a mere human. Hurting her was nothing short of an abuse of power." 

"I'm glad you acknowledge that-" Lucien began, then broke off as he saw me. "Why, hello, Miss Archeron." 

Rhysand turned towards me, and drew in a sharp breath. 

"Feyre," he said softly. 

"My sister Nesta no longer bears the name of Archeron," I informed them politely. "And neither does Elain. When they married the viscount and Isaac Hale respectively, they took their husbands' surnames as their own, as is the custom." 

"I...did not know," Rhysand said. "I am sorry. The Night Court is...very far away from the Wall, and as such, I am not familiar with human customs." 

"Do Fae women...not take their husbands' names upon marriage?" I asked. Since Tamlin had understood the concept fairly well-enough to remind Nesta and Elain of it, even-I assumed the same must be the case in Prythian." 

"No," Lucien explained. " Although they do usually join their husband's household upon marriage, Fae women retain their name of their birth family for the entirety of their lives." 

"I...see," I said. "That is...illuminating." 

Lucien then bowed and said, 

"I will take my leave of you now, High Lord Rhysand, and Miss Archeron. I have...much work to do." 

With that, Lucien walked away. When he was out of sight, I asked Rhysand: 

"You said something about Amarantha...making you her _consort_?"

Rhysand sighed. 

"This will take some explaining," he said. "Come-let us do this someplace private." 

"Alright." 

With that, I led him into my private research nook in the library, where we sat down and Rhysand began, 

"I do not have...the _greatest_ reputation outside of the Night and Spring Courts. The Dawn and Summer Courts _especially_ despise me, since they are very much passionately anti-Amarantha." 

"But aren't you anti-Amarantha also?" I asked, utterly confused. 

"Yes," Rhysand replied. "But that is not known to the general public, for a few reasons. The first of which is because two years, during Amarantha's conquest, when she came to the Night Court, rather than fight her, I chose instead to bend the knee." 

My jaw dropped in horror. 

"You...bent the knee...to that _horrible woman_?" I cried. "But _why_?" 

"Because the Night Court was in no shape to fight her," Rhysand told me. "It had been torn apart by civil war for ten years. My...father was an ambitious man, you see. While he wasn't the High Lord of the Night Court, he wanted to be. And so did the Illyrians, my mother's people." 

"The...Illyrians?" 

"A group of Fae, currently in-between High and Lesser Fae, mainly because nobody can agree on whether they count as High or Lesser Fae," Rhysand explained. "Since a Lesser Fae is defined by having what High Fae term as "uncivilized features"- a term I personally find offensive- and the Illyrians don't have many of those, some believe they should be counted among the High Fae. However, Illyrians _do_ have wings, which the regular High Fae don't, so more conservative folks would say that that alone makes us Lesser Fae, even if we otherwise look more similar to High Fae." 

"And so...you inherited the wings from your mother?" I asked, more confused than ever by the nature of Fae racial hierarchy.

Rhysand nodded. 

"My father was originally ordered to marry her by my grandfather in order to pacify the Illyrians, who were getting very seditious ambitions back in his day," he continued. "But he grew to love her, and he eventually promised the Illyrians greater rights and status within the Night Court if they would back him in the civil war. My uncle, his older brother and the actual High Lord at the time, did not take kindly to the challenge, or to what my father had promised the Illyrians. And neither did most of the Night Court nobility." 

"I must confess, your uncle sounds like a piece of work," I told him. From what little I knew about the Lesser Fae, it seemed they had very few rights in Prythian. And that therefore, if some considered the Illyrians Lesser Fae, that the Illyrians must not have many rights either. And denying an entire group of people rights

"Trust me, my father wasn't so great a person, either," Rhysand told me. "He only aligned himself with the Illyrian cause because it gave him an army. Plus, his _other_ reason for wanting the throne was because-according to him-he had a _male_ heir, whereas my uncle's heir was _only_ female." 

"Women...are allowed to inherit titles in Prythian?" I asked, blinking in surprise. 

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. 

"They aren't in the human lands?" 

I shook my head. 

"Only if there are no male heirs to speak of," I told him. "And even then, most families would rather scramble to find one than give the title to a daughter. At least, that's how it is in Serast. I have heard other countries do things differently." 

Rhysand sighed. 

"I see. Well, that is unfortunate. Women have been able to inherit titles in Prythian at _least_ since the War. Of course, the war was _only_ five hundred years ago... " 

"Wait," I understand. "If the war was five hundred years ago, and the Fae really only live up to three hundred years...how Amarantha is even still alive, if she was old enough to have fought in it?" 

Rhysand shuddered. 

"Nobody knows," he said. "Most of the belligerents in that war are _long_ dead. Yet, three hundred years afterward, when even the _youngest_ of those who'd fought in the Human-Fae War were either dead or crusty and wrinkled with age, Amarantha and the King of Hybern somehow managed to look not a day over a hundred. And even now, when the children of those who fought-the grandparents Tamlin and my generation-are dead or either have one foot in the grave- she and the King _still_ have not aged at all. Many suspect the use of dark magics is involved in keeping her alive." 

Rhysand took a deep breath in and continued,

"But at any rate, for ten years, my father and uncle nearly _destroyed_ the Night Court with their civil war. My uncle had practically emptied the court's coffers fighting my father, and in fighting my uncle, my father destroyed much of the countryside, making crops unable to grow. Eventually, it ended when my father stormed Velaris-" 

"And was that when he won?" I asked. 

"Yes and no," Rhysand said, shaking his head. "My father's army had all but conquered Velaris at that time, so my arrogant father felt thoroughly justified at marching all the way to the House of Winds where my uncle was, in order to demand his surrender, even though the battle wasn't even _over_."

"Did your uncle surrender?" 

Rhysand scoffed.

"No, of course not. My uncle was just as much an arrogant fool as my father, so rather than give up, he instead challenged my father to a duel. I didn't get to witness the results of that particular idiocy myself, unfortunately-I had arrived very late from the border with a message to take to my father, from High Lord Helion, and had only just heard about what my father had done. That, and travel through all the fighting was rather difficult. But my cousin Morrigan, she saw it all. And judging from how she acted afterwards, it must not have been a very pretty sight. " 

Rhysand drew in a deep breath and continued,

"They tell me that my father and uncle fought for a long time, beating each other to little more than a pulp, until at last my uncle managed to stab my father through the heart and kill him. Thus, owing to his death, my father _technically_ lost the war. However, prior to his death, my father had managed to wound my uncle in his midsection- and the wound was fatal. Thus, my uncle wasn't victorious for very long- in fact, he only had enough time to do two things: inform Morrigan that she was now the High Lady, and hand her the crown. After that, he died." 

"So...if your father lost...and your cousin succeeded your uncle, then...how come you're the High Lord of the Night Court?" 

Rhysand grimaced.

"Well...watching her father murder her uncle in the throne room, then die horribly, did not exactly do any _favors_ for Morrigan's sanity," Rhysand began. "In fact...the experience kind of..._broke_ her." 

"_Broke_ her?"

"Well...there's no other way to _describe_ it," Rhysand said. " She vomited _every_ time she had to walk into the throne room-even _after_ the blood was cleaned up. She...stopped sleeping, and on the rare occasions when she did sleep, she always woke up screaming from nightmares. Great Somnus, she screamed every time she saw someone carrying a sword-which was _often_, because a huge battle had just taken place. And then there were the times when she'd stare wide-eyed into space and have some sort...of imaginary conversation with my father and uncle, begging them to stop killing each other. And the few times she was lucid, she was always on high alert, as if she was worried about potential assassins or something, and she freaked every time she heard a noise." 

Rhysand shrugged. 

"Thus her time ruling over the Night Court was...rather short, lasting about...five days. During which, she didn't accomplish all that much-the dead got buried, the throne room got cleaned up, ordered healers to tend to the wounded-her main accomplishment was signing the peace treaty with my father's second-in-command. Which I am..._impressed_ that she managed to do, considering the state she was in, plus the fact that said second-in-command refused to not wear his sword while meeting with her, despite knowing full well how..._nonexistent_ her sanity was." 

"Your father's second-in-command doesn't sound like a nice person," I mused. 

Rhysand chuckled. 

"That isn't even the best part. The ink was barely dry when he decided it was a fine idea to not-so-subtly point out that that day was my nineteenth birthday, which made me an adult. And, then, to even less subtly suggest-almost mockingly so- that if Morrigan was finding the position of High Lady to be too difficult, she could now _officially_ abdicate and leave the job of ruling to me."

Rhysand grimaced.

"Which...she _did_. Almost _immediately_. By noon the _same day_, I was informed of her abdication and, one purification bath and a flurry of ceremony later, I was crowned High Lord of the Night Court." 

I drew in a sharp breath. 

"Wow...that's...rather young to become a High Lord," I said. 

Indeed. And if it had only been two years since that had happened...that meant Rhysand wasn't that much older than; he was only twenty-one, if my math was correct. 

"Yes, I suppose it is," Rhysand acknowledged. "I would have preferred not to take the position at all-let alone in such a..._dishonest_ fashion. But...my mother's people _refused_ to let me abdicate. They were _so afraid_ that Mor would turn into a tyrant if she took the throne again, they went nuts every time I brought up. All of which, of course, was based solely on the fact that she was my uncle's daughter, as opposed to anything she said or did. It wasn't just them, though; the Night Court nobility by that point also had their doubts about Mor's ability to rule given her... condition." 

Rhysand let out an exasperated sigh. 

"They said, and I quote: ' A High Lady who cannot even enter the throne room without dissolving into hysterics has no business being High Lady'. Which, _I_ think is massively unfair-after all, it's not Mor's fault our fathers chose that particular room to have their sanity-destroying duel to the death in."

"So... when did Amarantha arrive?" I asked, utterly at a loss for how else to respond. 

"Exactly _six months later_," Rhysand said dryly. "Now, I _tried_ to get the Night Court in fighting shape-I really did _try_. The High Lord of the Day Court, Helion-he warned me that Amarantha was coming, so I wasn't exactly caught off guard-in fact, that was the message I was trying to get to my father-that she had arrived. But...there was almost _no_ money left in the treasury, and those few soldiers that weren't completely out of commission were busy feuding with each other over nonsense left over from the last war. Not to mention, the priestesses of Beltane and Brustana hadn't even come close to fixing all the farmland my father destroyed. Plus, the people were pretty sick and tired of war after the civil war. 

Rhysand sighed. 

"So...when Amarantha arrived, fresh off of conquering the other six courts, with a massive army that showed no intentions of stopping, I knew that there was no way the Night Court could fight her for any reasonable length of time, _let alone_ win. So, for the good of the people, I did the only thing I could; I flew to Amarantha's camp, walked up to Amarantha's tent, bent the knee, and accepted her as queen of all Prythian, on the condition that she spare my people." 

"And...did she?" 

Rhysand grimaced. 

"Oh, yes," he told me. "She _did_. She was so positively delighted by my surrender in fact, that she decided to_ reward_ me by declaring me her _official consort_. It was...not a position that I particularly _wanted_, considering I didn't know her all that well, the fact that she was alive only thanks to Somnus-knows what kind of foul sorcery, and-oh yes-her infamous reputation as a sadistic general who _murdered_ all her human slaves because she couldn't accept defeat." 

Rhysand sighed. 

"But...I highly suspected that saying _no_ would get me killed-and considering Tamlin's predicament, I was probably _right_. So...I said yes, mainly because I had no other choice." 

"You poor thing," I breathed, embracing Rhysand. He hugged me back, and even allowed me to reassuringly stroke his hair. 

"I hope she never finds out about you, Feyre," he groaned. "I don't think I could bear it if she hurt you." 

"Neither could I," I replied. "Why don't you just tell everyone the truth?" 

Rhysand laughed sharply. 

"Because if Amarantha found out how I _really_ feel about her, I _guarantee you_ she'd raze the Night Court to the ground. Not to mention, my status as Amarantha's consort has been...a _great help_ to the Night Court, shall we say. She's been rather generous with reconstruction money, and thanks to the fact that we didn't have to fight Amarantha, the priestesses of Brustana and Beltane were able to restore the farmland in peace. Plus, because of my surrender, Amarantha's allowed my people freedoms the other Courts can only dream of." 

"_Freedoms_?" 

"Oh, yes," Rhysand said sheepishly. "I forget. You haven't seen them, but the rest of Prythian is absolutely _crawling_ with Amarantha's undead soldiers. Especially in the more rebellious courts. The only reason Tamlin can rule like he does is because the Spring Court's already doomed. _Otherwise_, those humans who came crawling through the wall to visit you? They'd have been slaughtered by Amarantha's goons the second they set foot in Prythian." 

I shuddered, trying not to picture my sisters or the Widow Mallory or Padma getting murdered by a walking corpse.

"And plus," Rhysand added. "My position as her consort allows me to get my hands on a _lot_ of official documents. That, plus enough time practicing Amarantha's signature, has allowed me to help a lot of people who would otherwise suffer under her reign." 

Seven gods above me. Rhysand was such a wonderful man. So selfless, so sweet, so-

It was at that moment that the soul-bond tugged again, this time a very strong, very forceful tug. Rhysand must have felt it too, for he pulled back from me in horror. 

"This is happening _way_ too fast," he gasped. "Why doesn't it show any signs of slowing down?" 

"I don't know," I breathed. "But I think I've stopped wanting it to." 

Rhysand smiled sadly. 

"Me too," he confessed. 

"That's not a good thing, is it?" 

Rhysand shook his head. 

"Not for the Spring Court, no." 

Thus my first day of research was not only fruitless, it was counter-productive as well. Not only had I failed to find a solution, but things had actively gotten worse. 

If the soul-bond was only going to keep growing from here on out-growing stronger and stronger until it was well past the past where Rhysand and I had the willpower to resist it-than it was clear that I could not solve this problem by myself. At this rate, by the time I found a way to break the soul-bond-if I found one-Rhysand and I might very well be getting _married! _

I needed help. But _whose_? 

At first, I considered asking Tamlin's councilors for help, but then I realized if they found out I had fallen in love with Rhysand, they would probably just declare me another failed attempt and send me back to Serast. While Lucien and Tulip might stick up for me, the more practical Taureg would definitely not give me another chance if he knew the truth.

I then considered spilling everything to Tamlin- but why would his reaction be any different? Moreover, he might decide that if I really was in love with Rhysand, I should live with him in the Night Court- which, while I found that option far too appealing for my comfort, would do the Spring Court no good. 

I supposed I could enlist Alis's help, but she was only a servant, and Tamlin was her sovereign-I couldn't very well ask her to lie to him, could I? 

And thus I was stuck, unable to figure out what to do, until, two days later, while I was passing by the chapel, I caught Larina and Ianthe embroiled in an argument. 

"Are you _insane_?" Larina screeched as she waved a tiny bottle in Ianthe's face. "If you dosed him with this, the consequences could be catastrophic!"

"We're _already_ all about to die!" Ianthe cried. "What's the harm in Tamlin going in begging Amarantha to lift the curse?" 

"Oh, there'll be _plenty_ of harm when it wears off," Larina scoffed. "And when Tamlin is no longer infatuated with Amarantha! That is, even assuming that Amarantha wouldn't immediately get suspicious of a Tamlin suddenly besotted with her right as the curse is about to take effect." 

A...love potion. Ianthe had...somehow managed to make a...love potion.

That was exactly what I needed. 

"Excuse me," I said, curtsying as I stepped in front of them, "But did I hear you correctly? Does that tiny little bottle...really contain a potion that causes infatuation?"

Both Larina and Ianthe turned to stare at me.

"Y-es," Larina replied, utterly confused. "This right here is _indeed_ a love potion-albeit a relatively weak one. _Why_ would you-" 

And then realization of my plan dawned on her. 

"Oh no," she cried. "No, Miss Archeron, _please_, don't even-" 

"Like the High Priestess said, we're all about to die anyway," I pointed out. "If there's any way I can prevent you all from turning to stone, I'll take it." 

"Miss Archeron, listen, there are _many_ forms of love," Larina protested. "Romantic love is only-" 

"Oh, I would be all too _happy_ to brew a love potion for you, Miss Archeron," Ianthe interrupted, smiling sweetly as she did. "After all, I _am_ a loyal subject of the Spring Court, at the end of the day."

I will admit, I should have been _far_ more suspicious of Ianthe's sudden cooperativeness than I was. After all, why would Ianthe, who had _hated_ me since the day I set foot in the Spring Court, who was convinced that I was an uppity, undeserving mortal, who had turned my friends into _rodents_ just for speaking on my behalf, be so willing to do favors for me?

But I was desperate. It had already been a week and three days since I entered the Spring Court- I had eleven days at _most_ to fall in love with Tamlin before everyone in the Spring Court died. Before I died. 

So, instead of that very good question, instead I asked her:

"How long will it last?" 

"Oh, it depends," Ianthe replied, "Some last only a day, others can last for _weeks_ on end." 

"Will it go deep enough to count?" I continued, blocking out Larina's pleas for me not to do this. 

"Oh, sweet, precious child," Ianthe assured me, "That potion Larina has in her hands is but the _weakest_ possible dose. I can make a potion so strong you'll feel as if Tamlin was your soulmate." 

My..._soulmate_. Ianthe could make a potion strong enough to mimic the _soul-bond_. The very thing that was giving me trouble all this time. 

"I've no more questions," I said finally. "Make the potion." 


	9. The Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre drinks the love potion. The results are...not what Feyre or Ianthe expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -And yes, the High Fae DO age. And I added  
-Alis's canon backstory was not going to fit, and you all know that.

It took at least three hours for Ianthe to brew the love potion. Three hours of nervously standing in her workroom, watching her brew amidst all the books, scrolls, alchemical ingredients, and other odds and ends, hoping that it would work.

At long last, however, Ianthe finished brewing the potion, and dipped an elegant crystal cup into the cauldron. She then handed the cup, which was now filled with the potion, to me. 

"Drink," she commanded. 

I stared at the contents of the cup. They were not at all pleasing like I thought they'd be; the liquid was a deep, disgusting muddy brown, and smelled of rot and sulfur.

_This is the solution you've been waiting for_, I reminded myself as I fought the urge to toss the liquid onto one of Ianthe's potted plants. This is what will save the Spring Court. 

And with that, I somehow managed to force myself to drink the love potion, Ianthe's grin getting wider and wider as I downed the glass's contents. That alone should have been fair warning that I'd made the wrong decision, but I was so fixated on fighting my instincts that I completely failed to take her suspicious expression into account.

Immediately after I finished, I felt dizzy, my head suddenly becoming very, very heavy. I gently set the glass down onto one of Ianthe's worktables and sat myself down on Ianthe's elaborate desk chair, too woozy to stand. 

"How do you feel, Miss Archeron?" Ianthe asked, still smiling. 

"I...I..." 

And that was when the potion kicked in. Suddenly, I felt giddy with excitement, the way a schoolgirl might feel whenever she looked at the handsome neighbor's boy. 

"I...Tamlin is such a beautiful, _beautiful_ man, isn't he?" I giggled. 

I wondered why I had never realized it sooner. He was...so muscular, so strong, so..._captivating_. Sure, he _might_ be a High Lord of the Fae, and I _might_ be a bastard, but he was just...irresistible. 

Ianthe smirked. 

"Well, that didn't take long," she said smugly. 

Oh. That was right. My presents affections for Tamlin were not natural; rather, they had only come about via an alchemical concoction created by a High Priestess of the Fae. And that the minute said concoction wore off, they would _instantly_ disappear. 

Utterly crushed by this revelation-by the idea that I might stop loving Tamlin so fiercely in the near future-I asked, 

"How do I make it last?" 

Ianthe laughed evilly. 

"You drink the potion again, foolish mortal."

Ianthe then grinned wolfishly as she added,

"But trust me, you're not going to have that problem in the foreseeable future." 

Utterly incapable of perceiving the darker meaning behind those words, I responded to that with a brief bit of delighted clapping. 

"So I'll still love him when I wake up tomorrow?" I cried. "Yay!" 

Just then, the noon bells sounded, alerting me that it was time for my daily lunch with Tamlin. 

"I've got to go," I giggled, rising from my chair. "My Tamlin is summoning me. I get to eat _lunch_ with him! I'm so happy! Thank you, Ianthe! Thank you so much!" 

"You're...welcome," Ianthe replied, surprising another smirk as she did.

I then happily skipped out of Ianthe's workroom and towards the gardens, utterly oblivious to everything else except my newfound "love" for Tamlin. 

A great many of you may be wondering why my wits seemed to completely disappear after drinking the potion- almost to the point where I was like a small child, mentally. To those of you that are, rest assured; the effect was temporary. As I later learned, a clouded sense of judgement is a rather _common_ side effect of drinking a love potion. The cause for this, Larina later explained to me, is the combination of two ingredients critical to making any love potion work. Their names, I forget; but I know that both are flowers found only in Prythian, and even in Prythian they are quite rare. 

_So_ common is this side effect, in fact, that it is one of the major reasons why the making, use, and sale of love potions is banned by all seven Courts in Prythian. And not _just_ in Prythian; in many other human and Fae nations as well. The logic, of course, being that the diminished mental capacity resulting from the love potion makes any consent given by the affected dubious at best, and nonexistent at worst. 

So strenuously is this logic adhered to in Prythian, in fact, that if any party in a legal matter is dosed with a love potion, whatever consent they gave is considered nonexistent, regardless of what they said. For example, if a bride or a groom can be proven to have been under the influence of a love potion at the time of the wedding, the resulting marriage is considered null and void. If someone signs any contract under the influence of a love potion, in fact-regardless of the contract's content-their consent and signature is also declared null and void. 

Given that context, I now shudder at how easily I ignored Larina's pleas to Ianthe and myself. Not only that, but a new level of horror descends upon every time I think about how _willing_ Ianthe was to make the potion for me. About the nature of the crime she committed in doing so, and how _little_ she thought of it. How it showed the utter depths of her treason, how low she was willing to sink in order to achieve her goals. 

But back then, I was completely ignorant of all that, and absolutely nothing was on my mind except for how much I "loved" my dear, sweet Tamlin. A fact of which I was only too happy to inform him of the minute we sat down to eat lunch. 

"Oh, Tamlin, you're so _handsome_," I said dreamily as I stared into his eyes. "So...utterly handsome."

Tamlin grimaced at the compliment, utterly at a loss for my sudden change in attitude towards him.

"I love you _so_ much, Tamlin," I said with airy sigh. "So, so much." 

"Feyre?" Tamlin asked, his voice small and his eyes wide as he registered my words. "Are you alright?" 

"Oh, I'm better than ever," I giggled, "And it's _all_ thanks to Ianthe." 

"I.._anthe_?" Tamlin cried, utterly confused. 

"Yes," I replied, reaching a hand out to him. "Let's get married, Tamlin." 

Tamlin then rose from his chair, his face a mask of pure horror as he realized what had happened. 

"That...bitch," he swore. "That lying, conniving, traitorous little bitch." 

"Oh, don't call her _that!_" I pleaded, my love potion-soaked brain utterly at a loss for why this would anger Tamlin. "She didn't do anything except help me _love_ you!" 

"She..._helped_...you love me," Tamlin seethed, my brainless confession suddenly becoming much darker when repeated like that. "I see." 

Tamlin snapped his fingers, and a pair of guards came running at his call. 

"Take Miss Archeron to her quarters," he ordered. "Put her on bed rest and have Alis tend to her. Make sure that she does not leave." 

"Yes, my lord," the guards said in unison as they bowed briefly before seizing me. 

"NOOO!" I cried, utterly devastated by this turn of events. "No, Tamlin! Don't leave me!" 

Tamlin's face as he watched the guards drag me away was filled with nothing but pity. 

"You poor thing," he groaned. "Don't worry, Feyre. Ianthe will answer for this, I promise."

But my poor, addled mind did not want Ianthe to answer for the love potion. It wanted Tamlin, _only_ Tamlin. 

Despite my futile squirming to break free, however, the guards did succeed in dragging me to my quarters, where a horrified Alis watched as I collapsed onto my knees and vomited onto the floor. 

"Miss Archeron!" Alis cried, rushing to my side. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm...fine," I insisted. Which was the most bald-faced lie I'd ever told in my life, considering how utterly queasy and dizzy I felt at that moment. 

"I just need..._Tamlin_," I told her. "I need my sweet, sweet Tamlin." 

"She's been dosed with a love potion," one of the guards explained as Alis scooped me up and put me to bed. "Made by Ianthe, no less." 

Alis nodded grimly. 

"I see." 

The guards then bowed and left, and hardly had they done so when I suddenly felt my body _shifting_, changing into something I didn't recognize. I felt as if the sheerest veil was being ripped from my body, and as it was doing so, my limbs were growing longer, my face more delicate. My ears were also a casualty, growing longer and...pointier as it happened. 

"Mistress Archeron!" Alis gasped, as equally shocked as I was by the proceedings. "What's...what's happening?" 

But by that point, I was too delirious to respond, simply groaning in pain, wide-eyed with horror as my mind raced to stay awake and find a justification for what was happening.

Alis rushed towards the door and screeched, 

"Help! Miss Archeron is ill! Send for the physician! She needs help!" 

That was the last thing I heard before my endeavors to stay conscious failed and all was darkness. 

* * *

* * *

When I awoke, I knew immediately that the potion had worn off. For not only did I not feel _at all_ giddy or happy like I had before, I in fact was filled with an overwhelming dread. I did not know _why_, but I knew I had made the wrong decision in drinking the potion. And, deep in my gut, I strongly suspected that the consequences from that decision would not be confined to a bit of ill health.

Compounding these feelings was a sense of guilt, a feeling that in taking the potion, I had betrayed Rhysand. I didn't know why-we could never have a relationship, we were both in agreement on that-and if I had found a way to love Tamlin, shouldn't Rhysand be happy? But nevertheless, I felt dishonest, as if I'd cheated on Rhysand somehow. 

Glancing about my room, I found that it was empty, save for what appeared to be an elderly High Fae woman in a stark white dress and apron, with her sleeves rolled up around her elbows. She was frowning as she looked me over. I _say_ elderly, for she was quite wrinkled, and her hands were spotted with age, but her hair, rather than gray, was light blue. Was it...dye? 

I would later learn that it was not, in fact, dye, but rather, that the hair of the High Fae naturally turned light blue when they became old and wrinkled. 

"So, you're awake," the woman snapped. "Well, that's one good thing out of all this mess. At least you're not dead."

"_Dead_?" I said. "Why...why would I be dead? Are...are...I didn't think love potions could be fatal!" 

"Not _usually_," the woman told me. "But when brewed for the wrong species, things can turn deadly real fast for the victim." 

Wrong..._species_? So Ianthe had...brewed it for a Fae, then? _Intentionally_ brewed it for a Fae. Then...she'd tried to kill me, hadn't she? 

Just then, Alis burst into the room, curtsying as she did. 

"Thank Roseni," she cried. "You're _alive_, Miss Archeron!" 

"Yes...I suppose I am," I replied, very confused. "I'm...sorry to have alarmed everyone." 

Alis bobbed a curtsy to the elderly High Fae. 

"I'd...better inform His Lordship," she said. "He said he wished to see Miss Archeron as soon she woke up. Wanted to ask her about how Ianthe managed to enchant her." 

"No," snapped the elderly woman. "Are you _crazy_? His Lordship is _already_ furious about the High Priestess's escape. If he sees Miss Archeron like this..." 

Ianthe had...escaped? To where? And what was so odd about the way I looked?

"It'd be a real shock, yes," Alis acknowledged. "But begging your pardon, Court Physician Calluna, but His Lordship has a right to know. She is his _guest_, after all." 

"Yes. A guest brought under false pretenses," Calluna snapped. " Ones that don't even _apply_ anymore, considering the _current_ situation." 

"_What_ current situation?" I interrupted. "Why can't Tamlin see me?"

"Umm..." Alis stammered, utterly at a loss for words. The court physician started to speak, but then thought better. 

"_Tell_ me," I demanded, utterly surprised by the forcefulness of my tone. "What has happened to me that I can't see Tamlin? Have I sprouted a second head?" 

"Not...quite," Alis squeaked. 

She then went over to my nightstand, rummaged through it, and found an ornate hand mirror. Alis then handed it to me and said, 

"Here. It's best if you see for yourself." 

I took the mirror from Alis, glanced in it, and found that my appearance was utterly changed. 

I still had the same golden-brown wavy hair, the same upswept brown eyes, but everything else was completely different. My limbs were longer, and my skin now glowed faintly from within, emitting a curious sort of light. My facial features were more delicate, and my ears...they were longer...and _pointier_. 

Like those of a High Fae. 

"What _happened_ to me?" I gasped, putting the mirror down next to me on the bed and sitting up straight. "Why...why am I like this? Who _did_ this to me?" 

A stupid question. There was only one person who would have the motive to do so: _Ianthe_. It had to be Ianthe.

Somehow, her potion had transformed me into a High Fae. I didn't know why, or how, but it made perfect sense. She had always hated me-utterly unable to stand the fact that I, a human, was honored because of something I might do. What better way to get rid of me than to make sure I was utterly incapable of saving the Spring Court? 

"We...it's not a matter of who _did_ it, so to speak," Alis stammered, eyes cast down at the floor. "We...we..." 

"Our theory is, this has _always_ been the case with you," Calluna finished.

"_Always?!_" I cried. "But...but that's _impossible_! If I've always been High Fae, than why do I only look like this _now _?!" 

"Probably because of a glamour," Larina's voice explained from the doorway. 

We all turned towards Larina, who stood leaning against the doorjamb, dressed in flowing green robes.

"A..._glamour?!" _I exclaimed. "What's that?" 

"A minor illusion," Larina said. "Created by magic. Your parents probably put one on you when you were born, so that you could blend into human society better." 

"But...but...my father was a _merchant_," I protested. "A middling merchant at that. And my mother...she...she was a parlor maid. N-_neither_ of them had any _magic_!"

"Actually," Calluna mused. "We think your mother might have been one of the High Fae." 

"WHAT?!" I spat. "No. No, that's impossible!" 

"Do...do you remember that first night, when I saw that painting of your mother you made?" Alis asked nervously, stepping forward a small bit. 

"Yes," I replied, not liking where this was going. "You...asked me how I knew her." 

"Well," Alis began. "I asked you that because I recognized her. Her name was Valeria. She...she was a member of the Dawn Court some two decades ago, before Amarantha tricked High Lord Thesan into exiling her. I...I know because I used to _work_ there, you see. As...as a _servant_." 

"No," I gasped. "No, it can't be." 

But even as I said that, I knew it was. 

The Widow Mallory's words at Nesta's wedding ran through my mind: _Trust me, child, you've no place to judge violations of the Treaty. _

Had she _known_ about this? About my High Fae heritage? If so, why she hadn't she said anything when I told her about the Spring Court's curse? She must have known that I couldn't save Tamlin. 

Regardless, my mother being High Fae was a _damned_ good explanation for Alis's inexplicably knowing her. A much better explanation, in fact, than any that allowed her to be human. 

For my mother had been-or appeared to be-_very_ young when she first fell in love with my father. Around twenty or so, when my father had been twenty-six. And she'd _continued_ to look like she was twenty, up until I turned eleven, and my father was two years shy of forty and _showing_ it. A _human_ woman, no matter how healthy, could never hope for such unchanging looks and long-lasting beauty, no matter what she did. Even the most strenuous beauty regimen would not prevent a thirty-year-old woman from _looking_ thirty. 

But putting aside her strange youthfulness, if my mother had been human, than there were very few ways she could have entered Prythian without Tamlin's sentries tipping him off and inevitably getting sent back. The only way I knew of for her to legally enter would have been for her to kill a Fae, or sacrifice herself for someone who did, like I had. But if she'd done that, she could only spend a very minimal time in Prythian, for Alis to know her as a young woman and to leave Prythian as a young woman. And the punishment for treaty violations was for life, so...why would she have been released? Or, if she hadn't been released, why wouldn't the High Fae come after her when she escaped? 

No, my mother had to have been High Fae. Yet, despite that explanation being the most logical, it only opened up a great deal more questions. Like: how was my mother planning on hiding her longer lifespan? How was she planning on hiding _mine_, if I had one? What would people say when my father died of old age while my mother barely looked like she'd aged a day? 

When was she planning on telling me the truth of my heritage? Did my father know? Did Nesta and Elain? No, if they'd known I was High Fae-

I was _High Fae_. Granted, only _half_ High Fae, but still. Thanks to that fact, I was not, and had never been, capable of saving the Spring Court. How I felt about Tamlin no longer-had never mattered. 

"Summon Tamlin," I commanded. "He needs to know the truth." 


	10. Lady Feyre fi Aurorae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin has a council to determine what to do about Ianthe, and how to respond to Feyre being half-Fae. Alis reveals the full nature of who Feyre's mother was.   
Tamlin and his council decide to send Feyre back to Serast to live with the Widow Mallory.

"There are three matters before the Council today," Tamlin announced, glancing at each of the council members in turn.

We were all gathered in the council chamber, a white oval-shaped room with rosevines entangled around the enormous windows. Tamlin sat at the head of the table in an elaborately carved throne-like white chair. Gathered around the table were the members of his council: Taureg sat to Tamlin's left, with Lucien Vanserra sitting on Taureg's left. Iris sat opposite Lucien, with the chair to Tamlin's right being conspicuously empty. 

It was this empty chair that Larina stood behind, her face calm, hands folded demurely in front of her. Alis had explained to me that there were two things required to be instated as a High Priestess of Beltane for the Spring Court: the first was the passing of a specific test, and the second was an augur confirming Beltane's choice via divination. Larina had passed the test-and was the only priestess who had done so, which was why Tamlin had referred to her as Ianthe's successor. However, since an augur had yet to confirm if Beltane had chosen Larina, his referring to her as such at the trial was inaccurate. It was also how, despite her many crimes, Ianthe was still the High Priestess, and thus entitled to a seat at the dais in the Great Hall and on the High Lord's council. 

I stood between Larina and Tamlin, fighting down my nervousness and anxiety about this meeting's proceedings, on which my fate hinged. 

"The first, Tamlin continued, glancing at the empty chair, "Is the High Priestess Ianthe, whose crimes are manifold and well known to this council. The most recent of which being her dosing Feyre Archeron with a love potion, which has been illegal in Prythian since before the Human-Fae War." 

I drew in a sharp breath. Oh dear. That did not

"In fairness to Ianthe, my lord," I pointed out, "I did _consent_ to the dosing, and suggest it, what's more." 

"A fact of which I am well aware," Tamlin assured me, glancing at me quickly. "However as you are...as you..."

He paused for a bit, before eventually settling on:

"As you were _raised in the human lands, _and thus ignorant of Fae law regarding love potions, along with all the possible effects of one, this mitigating factor does not help Ianthe all that much. In fact, your willingness showcases a criminal negligence on Ianthe's behalf, since owing to her superior knowledge, it was her duty to inform you about the illegality of love potions, as well as warn you about potential side effects." 

"Thus the question is not of her guilt, but of her sentence," Tamlin explained. "A question which is now open to the council." 

"To which there is a very simple answer," Lucien replied. "She must be stripped of her position and put to death." 

"We cannot do that!" Taureg snapped. "She is still the High Priestess of Beltane-if we execute her, it will anger Beltane!" 

"Yes, she is the High Priestess," Lucien countered. "But she is also a woman who has evaded taxes for _two decades_, obstructed justice by hiding your Aunt Nynaevi's involvement in your father's death, injured a fellow priestess, willfully attempted to coerce Miss Archeron into blasphemy, attempted to dose a High Lord with a love potion, and successfully dosed Miss Archeron with one!" 

Lucien gritted his teeth. 

"At this point, she is nothing but a disgrace to the Spring Court and the goddess she serves," he insisted. "She deserves punishment, for real this time." 

"That's assuming we capture her," Larina pointed out. "And even we if do, we cannot strip her of her position because there is no official successor. I may have passed the Gauntlet, but without the augur's confirmation."

"And that brings us to our second matter," Tamlin announced. 

He snapped his fingers, and a guard immediately brought in a little blue book, which he handed to Tamlin with a bow.

"While the guards were searching Ianthe's chambers," Tamlin explained, "They found proof that the augur _had_ in fact confirmed that Beltane has chosen Larina as the next High Priestess, _three years ago_. And that Ianthe deliberately killed the augur in order to hide that divination." 

Everyone's jaw dropped.

Tamlin opened the book to a specific page, and passed it to Taureg, who glanced at it in horror, then passed it to Lucien, who passed it to Iris, who passed it to Larina. 

"_Yes, it is blasphemy,_" Larina read aloud. "_But I cannot cede my position to that upstart._ I _am the High Priestess, and nobody else._" 

Larina slammed the book shut and handed it to Tamlin. 

"I...all this time, I've been...bowing and scraping to a traitor. A blasphemer." 

"It seems we are _all_ blasphemers," Tamlin said. "Albeit by accident. Still, we must remedy this. Larina must be instated as High Priestess promptly, and we must all immediately beg Beltane's forgiveness for allowing ourselves to be deceived by Ianthe." 

"A wise course of action," Taureg agreed. "And it does rather solve the problem of how to deal with Ianthe."

"_Yes_," Iris concurred. "With Larina as High Priestess, we can finally bring Ianthe to justice without risking Beltane's wrath. Let us spread the word about what Ianthe did, that she is no longer High Priestess, and that she is to be brought before Tamlin immediately upon recapture." 

"So it has been decided," Tamlin announced. "Now, the third, and most pressing matter: Miss Feyre Archeron." 

Tamlin gestured to me and continued, 

"As all present at this council can see, Miss Archeron no longer has the appearance of a human, but a High Fae. Some of you are probably wondering why that is." 

"Yes," Lucien acknowledged, "That..._is_ rather puzzling."

So...Tamlin had not explained it to the council, then? But...why? What benefit could my suddenly showing up looking like a High Fae without warning _serve_? 

"Then without further ado," Tamlin declared, "I shall let Feyre's maid, Alis, explain." 

Tamlin gestured broadly to the double doors at the end of the room, and the guards opened them, allowing Alis to enter. Alis strode towards the table and curtsied. 

"Your Lordship, esteemed members of the High Lord's Council," Alis began, "The reason for Miss Archeron looking like a High Fae is because she is a High Fae."

"We gathered that," Taureg snapped. "The question is, why?" 

"Because she was _born_ that way, my lord Taureg," Alis said. "As much as yourself, Ambassador Vanserra, and His Lordship were. The only reason she appeared human was because of a glamour put on her by her mother." 

"Her...mother," Lucien said blankly, wide-eyed. "And you know it was her _mother_ because..." 

"Because I knew her mother," Alis replied. "Because, I gather, we all did. Or, at least, we have heard of her." 

I blinked in surprise. 

What? Okay, it made sense for Alis to know my mother-she worked in the Dawn Court. But...everyone else here was Spring Court. My mother must be very famous, or a prolific traveler, for them to know hwer. 

"Your Lordship, do I have leave to present a portrait before the council?" Alis asked. 

"You do," Tamlin replied, far too calmly and nonchalantly for my liking. He knew something I did not...and so did Alis. 

Alis gestured outside, and two Urisk porters brought in my easel-and on that easel, the portrait of my mother that I had painted on my first night in Prythian. 

Alis stepped to the side as they set the easel in front of the table, so that all in the room might get a good view of it. 

"Allow me to present," Alis declared, gesturing to the portrait, "Lady Valeria fi Aurorae, daughter of and onetime heir _to,_ High Lord Thesan fi Aurorae of the Dawn Court." 

Everyone in the room, including myself gasped. 

My mother...had been...a _princess_? But...but that was impossible! How...how...? 

Tamlin's features, however, remained schooled in neutrality. 

"Thus, as the members of the council can plainly see, we are met with a great dilemma indeed," he said, "Given that Feyre's mother is not only a member of the Dawn Court, but the _daughter_ of its present High Lord, not only does her citizenship lie with the Dawn Court, but she may very well be first in line to succeed its throne as well. As such, I have, and cannot have, any jurisdiction over-" 

"Wait, how am _I_ in line of succession to the Dawn Court's throne?" I cried. "My mother might be a princess, and I know that women can inherit in Prythian, but...she did not marry my father until six years _after_ my birth. That makes me illegitimate, and thus-" 

I was immediately met with the confused stares of Larina and all the rest of the High Lord's Council. It was then that I remembered that bastards and illegitimacy were not a _thing_ in Prythian, meaning that in the eyes of the Fae, precisely _when_ my mother had married my father, or if at _all_, was _irrelevant_. Meaning that, Lady Valhemia or no Lady Valhemia, I was _very much_ a legitimate heir to the throne of the Dawn Court.

All this time, I had thought myself a mere peasant, when I had had _just_ as much noble status as my sisters. No, _more_, since I was a legitimate heir to an actual _throne_, whereas Nesta and Elain weren't slated to inherit _anything_. 

"Never mind," I said softly, utterly unable to fathom the sheer enormity of what Alis had just realized. 

Tamlin cleared his throat and continued, 

"As I was saying: the truth of Feyre's status as a member of the fi Aurorae family means I have no jurisdiction over her. Which also means that she is _also_ incapable of serving out the Viscountess Nesta Mandray's sentence in the Spring Court."

"Indeed," Lucien agreed grimly, "Her Fae heritage, partial as it is, throws the entire validity of the agreement into question. After all, while she is a citizen of Serast, she is also a citizen of the Dawn Court. The Treaty demands a _human_ life in exchange for any Fae lives ended at human hands. _Human_, by this definition, meaning someone who is not a citizen of Prythian. Thus, Feyre being half-Fae renders her sacrifice moot." 

Oh no. He was right. 

"You're not suggesting we bring Nesta into Prythian, are you?" I cried. "Please don't say-" 

Tamlin held up a hand to silence. 

"No, Feyre, we are not," he reassured me. "One, it would accomplish nothing to bring her into the Spring Court ten days before Amarantha's curse takes effect. Two, I cannot possibly ask for proper restitution for Andras without dealing with the massive amount of murders committed by Fae hands on the border between Serast and Prythian. Which is a legal headache all on its _own_." 

"So...Feyre is no longer able to stay in the Spring Court," Taureg said. "I do not understand why this is a problem. Just ship her off to the Dawn Court and have done with it!" 

"_Except_," Iris countered, "That High Lord Thesan is highly and _openly_ anti-Amarantha, ever since he discovered how she framed Valeria for treason-" 

"Framed? But...I thought...how could she frame my mother if she only arrived two years ago?" I interrupted it. 

Indeed, the whole timeline was rather confusing. 

"No, that was when Amarantha began her _conquest_," Tamlin explained. "She _arrived_ about twenty years ago, begging for us to give her sanctuary. She claimed that the King of Hybern had hired assassins to kill her. It was _Thesan_ who accepted her request, a kindness which Amarantha chose to pay by placing forged documents in his daughter Valeria's bedchamber which said she was plotting with Hybern to take over Prythian. A crime for which Thesan had no choice but to exile Valeria." 

"Oh" I replied. 

"He _deeply_ regretted it though," Alis interjected. "Nothing pained him more than to exile his only child. And he regretted it _even_ more so when he discovered that the documents were fake and that Amarantha herself had falsified them." 

"So naturally," Iris explained. "Your grandfather is none too keen on Amarantha. _Especially_ not after she conquered Prythian."

"And Amarantha," Lucien said, "Is even _less_ keen on threats to her rule. Of which Thesan absolutely is. Thus there is not a single mile of that court that isn't crawling with Amarantha's spies and walking corpses."

"Ah," I replied. 

As much as I wanted to know how Amarantha had gained a walking corpse army, I had a strong feeling I would not like the answer. 

"And Thesan's soldiers fight those corpses viciously at every turn," Taureg added. "Which is ironic, considering that _Roseni_ is their patron." 

Roseni. I knew her well; Mother had been _very_ stringent that I did, even sometimes giving her more deference than other gods. Which I suppose made sense, considering her homeland. Roseni was a multi-faceted goddess, being in charge of light, the healing arts, redemption, renewal, charity, prophecy, and love. Love most especially, my mother had said. While all of those things were useful, there were not at all related to warfare, or strategy. Both of which seemed far more conducive to fighting a corpse army. 

"Yes," Tamlin said. "And while I imagine Thesan would be positively _delighted_ to meet his granddaughter, sending Feyre to the Dawn Court is to send her into _danger_. _Especially_ once Amarantha finds out who she is." 

"Indeed," Iris replied. "Which leaves us with only one option." 

"Yes. We send her back to Serast," Tamlin declared. "And we must do so with great swiftness."

"But...but my sisters...they are already married," I pointed out. "Neither will willingly shelter me."

"No," Tamlin acknowledged, "But I have a feeling that your friend the Widow Mallory will. Do you doubt that?" 

I shook my head. 

"No," I replied. "She would gladly have me as her guest." 

"Then it is decided," Tamlin said. 

He turned to Lucien and said, 

"Ambassador Vanserra, pen a missive to High Lord Thesan, informing him about Feyre, and explaining where she is if he wishes to see her." 

Lucien nodded. 

"Yes, Your Lordship," he replied. "I will do so straightaway." 

"Good." 

Tamlin turned to Taureg and commanded, 

"Taureg, I want you to prepare a small group of guards to accompany Feyre out of Prythian. The risk to her may be small, but if Amarantha has heard that I have a new human girl-which she likely has-then she may try something, and it is good to be prepared just in case." 

Tamlin then glanced at me and said, 

"You are dismissed, Miss-_Lady_ Feyre, in order that you might pack your things and be ready to depart by sundown tonight."

Highly unused to being addressed as 'Lady', I chose to curtsy and reply, 

"Thank you, Your Lordship." 

With that, I then walked over to Alis, who was already ordering the porters to take my mother's portrait out of the council room. 

"I will be up with you in a moment, my lady," she assured me. 

My...lady. I was...a "my lady". It was utterly bizarre. 

"Thank you," I replied awkwardly, completely taken aback by the form of address. "I shall wait for you there." 

* * *

* * *

By sundown, I was completely packed and ready to leave Prythian. All of the dresses Tamlin had given me were stowed into trunks loaned to me by Lucien. So were my painting supplies, as well as the portrait I had painted of my mother. My other paintings, I had decided, would stay in the Spring Court. Tamlin would make a gallery of them, like he'd wanted to, and thus they would be my mark on the Spring Court, the proof for future generations that I was here. 

In addition to the clothes and painting supplies, I was also taking my bow and arrows-which, I observed, I'd had scant chance to use- and a small bag of toiletries. 

All of which was _far_ more than what I'd arrived with at the beginning of the month-but it was still far too little for my liking. Too little that tied me to the Spring Court-to what would have been my home. 

_Home_. Wasn't that where I was _going_? Back to Serast, to the world of humans like me. Except...that was it. I wasn't human. At least, not _fully_. Which meant that Prythian was just as much home as Serast was. 

And arguably more, considering that Prythian was where Tamlin and Rhys and Alis and Lucien and Iris and Tulip lived. Whereas in Serast...the cottage was empty. Utterly empty. Not even _Effie_ was there; she'd probably went with either Elain or Nesta when they married. And speaking of my sisters...Nesta was all the way on the Viscount Mandray's estate, probably, or in Seraston. Elain would be in Woodwall, but I'd doubt she'd want to see me-especially not the way I was now. And of course, neither Elain nor Nesta were even _speaking_ to each other.

And of course, there was no relying on the extended Archeron relations, who had abandoned us when Father died, and who would probably only speak to us because of Nesta's marriage. Thus, I effectively had no family in Serast- no _worthwhile_ family, anyway.

Of course, I'd have Padma and the Widow Mallory-and that thought was the only thought that kept me from bursting into tears. It was also, in general, the thought that helped me say goodbye to everyone and climb into the carriage destined for Woodwall. 

But before I did, I squeezed Tamlin's hand tight and pleaded, 

"Don't give up. You have nine days left, there's still time. I...I will send you women from Woodwall if you want-" 

"I appreciate the thought, Feyre," Tamlin replied, clapping me on the back. "And I appreciate how far you were willing to go to save us. I will miss you, even though things didn't work out between us. Enjoy life in Serast." 

_Even though things didn't work out between us_. 

The words cut through my heart like a knife as I climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind me. And as I was driven away by the horses, with Taureg's small complement of guards surrounding my carriage, I flopped down on the carriage seat and at last began weeping. 

_At least Rhysand and I can be together now_, I thought to myself as I started to fall asleep that first night in the carriage. _Now that I'm no longer obligated to fall in love with Tamlin. Because it doesn't matter whether I do anyway. Because I'm not human enough to save the Spring Court. _

Had _never_ been human enough. Thus, all the effort I'd made-that _we'd_ made- had been pointless. And the Spring Court would all be turned to stone, killing everyone within it, regardless of the soul-bond with Rhysand, _regardless_ of whether I'd managed to fall in love with Tamlin. 

Not only that, but seven gods above, I hadn't even managed to save my sister, in the end. Thanks to my partial Fae heritage, the law still demanded Nesta's head. 

I went to sleep crying that night. 


	11. A Murderer Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre returns to Woodwall to live with the Widow Mallory. The cottage is demolished via dynamite on Elain's orders.  
Elain invites Feyre to tea, where Feyre discovers two things. The first: that Elain is pregnant. The second: a horrifying secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -It's the return of everyone's two favorite characters, the Widow and Padma!
> 
> -the cottage's destruction is symbolic, in a way, of the destruction of the Archeron sisterhood dynamic, and of Feyre's old identity. 
> 
> -the murder reveal doesn't have as much foreshadowing as I'd have liked it to, but it at least sets up foreshadowing for later. I also know that I'm taking a huge risk in making OBBABB!Elain into a murderer, but I hope nobody gets TOO mad about that.

"Feyre!" the Widow Mallory cried as I exited Tamlin's carriage. "It's so good to see you again!" 

"It's good to see you too," I replied, shivering in the cold winter air as I walked over to her. "I'm sorry to impose on you on such short notice, my friend." 

The Widow shook her head. 

"Oh, no, it's fine," she assured me as she reached out and hugged me. "But tell me... why are you back so _early_? There are still seven days until the year's end."

"It's a long story, my friend," I said with a sigh as I shook my head and hugged her back. 

"Well, you'd better tell it to me inside, then," the Widow replied. "The servants will bring your things in from the carriage."

With that, the Widow Mallory escorted me into her parlor, where we sat down in front of her fireplace and I told her everything that happened to me since her visit to Prythian. I left nothing out, not even the things about Rhysand. When I was done, the Widow simply looked at me and said, 

"I see. You finally found out the truth about your mother. And so, it seems, did everyone else in the Spring Court." 

The Widow Mallory took a deep breath in and added, 

"And so will everyone in Woodwall, now that the glamour's been stripped off you." 

"Speaking of which..." I asked, "How did you even know there was a glamour? How did you know about...about...?" 

"About your mother's true identity?" Widow Mallory replied. "Because your mother was the one who gave me those Fae ointments in the first place." 

My eyes widened. 

"She...she did?" 

The Widow nodded. 

"Indeed," she replied. "They were her payment to me for agreeing to shelter her. My house was the first part of human society she came across after crossing the Wall, you see." 

The Widow chuckled. 

"Not that I _desired_ the payment. I had just lost my poor Frederick to the consumption, you see, and was grateful for the company. But she _insisted_. She didn't want to 'be an overbearing Fae master' with me. Valeria was sweet like that."

The Widow sighed. 

"She was one of my best friends, you know, before she left to work for your father," the Widow told me. "Our time together was brief, but I cherished every moment she spent in this house." 

"And so did I," added Padma from behind me. "We had a lot in common, she and I-both outsiders in Serast, from different cultures. Of course, she was an exiled Fae princess where I was a stonemason's daughter-turned-servant, but still." 

Padma smiled ruefully as I turned to look at her. 

"It was nice to not be the only non-Serast-born in Woodwall for a while," she added. " To have a friend who was just as puzzled about this country's customs as I was."

"How long did she stay here with you?" I asked. "How long did she live in Woodwall for?" 

"About two months, give or take," Padma said with a shrug. "Then she went off to work for your father in Seraston." 

"But she wrote to us, constantly, once she was there," the Widow put in. "In fact, she never stopped writing to us until she died."

"Really?" 

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I still have some of her letters. Would you like some of them?" 

"I...I...I would like that very much, thank you." 

* * *

* * *

The first day back in Woodwall was a truly bizarre one. For, although it had barely been two weeks, Serast felt just as alien and strange to me as Prythian first had. 

The first thing I did, after breakfast, was to take a trip to visit the cottage. A house which, much to my shock, was utterly _emptied_ of everything me and my sisters had ever owned. Not just in the sense that the few valuables were gone-Nesta had already packed up the Archeron family silverware by the time she married, and I'd fully expected Elain to take the fine porcelain dishware she'd bought two years after we moved with her. All the insignificant, worthless little things that were necessary to run the household with were gone as well. 

The pots and pans Effie had used to cook for us were utterly absent from the kitchen, and so was every single cooking utensil, her rack of dried herbs, and everything else she'd used to cook with. Indeed, were it not for the stove, and the general furniture in it, it would not have been easily recognizable as a kitchen. 

My sisters' bedroom were far worse; they almost looked as if they had been ransacked by burglars, they were so barren. Not even the _beds_ had made it out unscathed; the mattresses and pillows were completely gone, alongside the quilts, rough sheets, and pillow casings that had covered them. Thus there were no true 'beds' anymore but a bare bed-frame in the center of each of their rooms. 

The same was true of the servants' quarters, where Effie had slept; and indeed, the bed-frame was the only furniture left in her quarters. Her wash-stand, her dresser-all the meager furniture was gone, leaving an empty, dusty little room with nothing but a bed-frame in it. 

It was only natural, though. My sisters had little love for the cottage to begin with, and it made no economic sense to leave any of these little things here where they weren't being used. No, far better to sell whatever they could and use the money towards their dowry. And indeed, I could not find in myself to dislike it; instead I felt somewhat pleased by my sisters' financial shrewdness. 

I was not so pleased, however, to discover that the stable where I used to sleep did not exist anymore. Much to my shock, the building had been completely torn down, down to the last nail, leaving a bare patch of land where they once stood. Not even the hay was there anymore. 

While I was pondering what had happened to them, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw that it was a plain-faced man dragging a cart of what appeared to be a bunch of curious red tubes, each with a string attached to the top. 

"Miss, you might want to step back," he said. "We're about to demolish the house, you see, and-" 

"D-demolish?" I stammered, utterly confused. "But...but why? Who...who gave the order to-" 

"Mr. Isaac Hale wants to build a library here," the man explained. "In order to do that, however, he needs this place to be destroyed. Thus...I'm here to destroy it." 

"With...what?" 

The man pointed to the mysterious cylinders. 

"With this here dynamite," he said. 

And with that, he escorted me to what he believed to be a safe distance away, brought the dynamite to the house, and then immediately ran back towards me. The second he came back, the cottage exploded, transforming briefly into a ball of fire, and then all that was left was ashes.

And just like that, the last remnant of what Nesta, Elain, and I had once shared as a family was gone. 

"How does...Mr. Hale have permission to do that, exactly?" I asked the man. "Doesn't...the house technically belong to the Viscount Mandray by way of his wife?" 

"Aye," the man replied. "It did. But then a week ago Mr. Hale bought it off him for around a thousand hables or so. The Viscountess was none too pleased, of course-especially because of the low price he paid for it. But there was nothing to be done. The new Mrs. Hale is very insistent about the library being built, so-" 

"Ah, I see," I said gravely. 

So my sisters had not reconciled. Not only that, they were starting down on the road toward being enemies. Upon realizing this, I suddenly felt as a cord supporting me had been severed, that I was utterly without anchor.

For not only was the Archeron household no more, but now the very fragility of it had been completely exposed. We had not been a family these past six years, but rather a group of women bound together solely by shared poverty and misery. The minute that poverty was gone, any and all cooperation between the three of us instantly disappeared. And not just in the sense that my sisters no longer needed _me_, they also, I realized with horror, did not need each _other_ either.

Elain had not followed Nesta's orders these past few years out of respect or deference, but out of _necessity_. Because Nesta, as the eldest, was in charge of what little we had, and thus she needed to be in Nesta's good graces to survive. Once Nesta married, she'd forfeited that right, and Elain was an independent woman. Nesta's opinion no longer mattered, because Elain no longer benefited materially _from_ it. Indeed, she'd benefited far more from ignoring it. 

This revelation was especially shocking because I had always assumed that, although they did not love me, they loved each other. And maybe they did, but at this point, on Elain's part at least, that love had long since been corrupted by resentment. She and Nesta were not good, virtuous people; at least, not anymore. They were women utterly consumed by bitterness; towards our father, towards Lady Valhemia, towards my mother, towards me, and now, towards each other. 

Utterly incapable of dealing with this newfound insight, I hurried away, and ended up going into town. Once there, I was immediately met with stares from the villagers, who shrank away from me in fear. 

"I...It's _me...Feyre_," I said, reaching out towards Gerda, a farmer's wife who'd bought furs off of me many a market day. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"F-Feyre?" Gerda gasped. "How...how could-it is you. It really is. What...happened to you?" 

"I...I..." I stammered. "It's..it's hard to explain..."

"Oh, I'll _bet_," a voice said dryly behind me. 

I turned, and saw that it was Elain, who looked as well off as she had before, only now, I observed...there was a slight..._bump_ in the middle of her stomach, a bump which very much resembled...

"Elain!" I gasped. "You're _pregnant_!" 

"And _you're_ a High Fae," Elain pointed out. "Somehow. Did that Tamlin do this to you?" 

"N-no," I replied, "But how are _you_..._pregnant_? You've...you haven't even been married a few weeks!" 

Elain rolled her eyes. 

"How do you _think_?" she snapped. "It happened _before_ the wedding, obviously. Not that _either_ of us realized it until several days afterwards. Now, you tell me how you inexplicably changed species." 

"You'll...you'll want to be sitting down for the explanation," I told her. 

"Alright then," she said. "You can join me for tea at my house, then." 

***

The parlor in the Hale mansion was a lovely, pink, and plush little place, although it was nowhere near as impressive as anywhere in the Spring Court. It was here, over tea, that I explained the nature of my changed appearance to her-how my mother had secretly been a High Fae, how she'd put a glamour on me, and how it had come off. I left out, of course, the details about Rhysand, that the love potion was a love potion, and, most importantly, why I'd needed the love potion. 

When I was done spinning my tale, Elain looked at me and said, 

"Well, that explains it. Should I address you as 'Your Highness' now-you know, since you're a princess and everything?" 

"I..uhh...well-" 

I cleared my throat and added, 

"I also...have some more unfortunate news to add to this. You see...when I told High Lord Tamlin about how our father died...he did an investigation into it-because not punishing the killer _technically_ violated the Treaty. And what he found was...that it couldn't have been a Fae that did it." 

Elain raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh? Really? Do tell what his reasoning was." 

I hastily explained Tamlin's reasons, combing over almost every detail of the investigation, and then said, 

"So...that means...it could only have been a human who did it. Which means...Father's killer is on the loose here in Woodwall." 

Elain's response to this, rather than shock, horror, or anything else I had expected, was to let out a very loud, very sharp laugh. 

"I...I don't understand," I said, utterly confused. "What...what's so funny?" 

"Well, _of course_," Elain guffawed. "The killer absolutely was human. There's no other way for her to be otherwise." 

"_Her_?" I gasped. "So you _know_ who it is?" 

"Oh, yes," Elain replied gleefully. "Yes I do. And I have been waiting to tell you for _years_. Only Nesta never permitted it." 

Elain stood up and said, 

"But first, we should move to a more private location. Come, follow me." 

With that, I followed Elain throughout her new house and up to the ornate bedroom she shared with her husband. Elain locked the door behind us and then said, 

"_I_...am the one who killed our father." 

My jaw dropped. 

"What?!" I cried. "No...no...but...how? Why?" 

"Why?" Elain exclaimed. "Why?! Because he _expected_ us to sell our bodies on the street for him." 

"He...he would never..." 

"Oh, but he _did_," Elain informed me with a bitter laugh. "That night, when we'd first moved to this town, when we had _nothing_ to eat-before you went and did your little hunting thing-I confronted him, asked him what we were going to do about money, about food. His response was, and I quote," 

Elain's then dipped into a mocking impression of a fatherly baritone, 

" '_Well, you're a merchant's daughter, darling. You and Nesta both. Show a little mercantile spirit. What's one thing you have-that _all _women have-that they can make a living off of?"'_

"He...he really said that?" 

"_Yes_," Elain snapped. "And when, being of _proper_ breeding, I _refused_\- his response was to call me a lazy, good-for-nothing little brat who was more trouble than she was worth. How _dare_ I not sell my virginity to the highest bidder? How _dare_ I not allow myself to be prostituted for the greater good? Never mind what I wanted, of course, or about how that might impact my marriage prospects."

Elain seethed in fury. 

"But when I pointed out that I'd have better marriage prospects if my maidenhead was still intact, his response was to take off his belt and threaten to beat me bloody if I didn't do as he said." 

Elain sighed. 

"So I panicked. Fearing for my life, I took the wood-chopping axe and drove it through him. Which, of course...caused him to die." 

"Does Nesta know?" I croaked, utterly unable to think of a response. On the one hand, she had committed patricide. On the other hand, my father was about to pimp his own daughters out for cash. 

Elain burst out laughing. 

"She was the one who _suggested_ blaming it on the Fae," Elain explained, "When she came outside, and found my father dead, and me hyperventilating because what I'd just done was _murder_, she took the ax from me, wiped the blade on my father's shirt, and put it back. As...if she was sweeping the floor or something. And then she told me: '_this was a rogue Fae attack. If anyone asks, the Fae did it_.'" 

Elain had...murdered our father and...Nesta just calmly covered it up. Had...had she even known what Father had tried to do? Had...had Father done it to _her_? 

"So she...mangled the body...to make it look like a Fae attack," I gasped, staring straight ahead, utterly horrified. 

"And in quite the impressive _manner_, too," Elain admitted. "You'd think she'd done it before. And then when you came running, she repeated the story with such...such _conviction." _

Elain chuckled. 

"I was good for nothing but staring at the floor, of course, but Nesta...Nesta had it all down _pat_. The quavering voice, the tears, the desperate attempts at reassurance..._everything_." 

I couldn't help but agree with that analysis. When I'd first seen Father's body, Nesta really had appeared to be grief-stricken. So much so that I couldn't help but instantly believer her story. I had assumed that Elain's avoiding eye contact was out of that same sense of grief, but now, knowing what I knew...how much had Nesta genuinely grieved for our father? Clearly, not much, if she had been so willing to cover up the truth without knowing the full story. Was I the only one who had _actually_ felt grief at our father's passing? And if so, why? What had transformed Father from the loving man I knew to this horrid man who forced his daughters into prostitution against their will? 

"Why...why confess this now?" I asked, still attempting to process all this. "Why...admit it at all?" 

Elain gritted her teeth.

"Because six years of watching you snivel and cry about him was _incredibly_ irritating. That man was good for _nothing_ but making us suffer. He was the _direct cause_ of all the misery in our lives-causing _Mother_ to leave and abandon us, treating Nesta and me like _dirt_ because he had _you_, losing our fortune and moving us out to the middle of nowhere-"

Elain scoffed and then added, 

"I used to think you were the only one who profited by that man. But you _didn't_, did you? You could have been a _princess_-Fae law doesn't _care_ about marriage, so it _makes_ you a _princess_-but Father let you grow up a bastard instead. Which gave Nesta and me the _perfect_ excuse to treat you like garbage." 

Elain snorted and gave a little laugh of disbelief. 

"And yet, you dutifully went over to his grave every year on the anniversary of his death, and recited those little prayers to Somnus for his happiness in the afterlife like a good little girl. As if he was a _good_ father, and not a perfect storm of horrible." 

Damn it. I _had_, hadn't I? And I'd likely been the _only one_ who ever visited his grave. Nesta and Elain hadn't simply visited at different times, like I'd assumed. 

"And now you know," Elain spat. "Now you know exactly what kind of man our _dear father_ was. A monster who _ruined_ his legitimate daughters' lives and when things fell apart, had no plan except to turn them into whores. And now I know-"

Elain laughed bitterly. 

"Now I know that he wasn't even good to his _precious Feyre_, in the end. Forcing you to live like a peasant when you could have been a princess." 

"My _mother_ was the one who put the glamour on me, you know," I pointed out nervously.

"Yes, but only because Father _kept_ you here," Elain countered. "If he'd sent your mother back to Prythian, she would never have had to lie about your heritage in the first place." 

"She was _exiled_ and _branded a criminal_," I said. "She had _no reason_ to believe she would be welcome in Prythian. The choice to stay was as much hers as-" 

"Why do you _defend_ him, after all these years?" Elain demanded, balling up her fists in fury. "You and Nesta both, always placing the blame on others-on Valeria, on fate, on our mother-on _everyone but him_, the one person _actually_ responsible for it all. _Especially_ since your mother-the supposed harlot herself-didn't _actually_ understand that marriage here in Serast is an exclusive, two-person deal."

"You...you don't view my mother as a whore?" I stammered, utterly blown away by that revelation. 

"What Nesta likes to forget is that it takes _two_ to make a baby," Elain snapped, sinking into a chair near the door. "But even if I did, I can't _now_, knowing that your mother didn't understand how human marriage works. Which...only makes our father _more_ to blame: he should have _explained_ to her that he was unavailable. But he _didn't_. Instead he strung her along, not caring about the consequences and making Valeria a prime target for my mother's rage." 

That...was a _very good point._ Since the Fae had no concept of infidelity, there was no reason for my mother to think sleeping with Father was wrong. Father, on the other hand...he knew full well what he was doing, and did it _anyway_. 

"You're...right," I admitted, unable to argue against it. "Our father...was not a good man." 

Elain smiled. 

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," she said. She then stood up and unlocked the door. 

"You should probably be getting back to...where ever it is you're currently staying," she told me. 

* * *

* * *

Coming back to Widow Mallory's house, I immediately developed a headache and had to retire early. Which was just as well; I had a lot to process. 

In leaving Prythian and returning to Serast, rather than coming home, I had instead arrived in utterly new, foreign territory. My sisters, once two respectable ladies in dire straits who put up a united front, were now rivals using their money and property to fight each other. And hell, whether or not Elain was even _respectable_ was up for debate-she had, after all, committed the crime of patricide. 

And she'd committed it because...because my father was an _awful person_. One who felt entitled to use his daughters' bodies to solve financial problems they'd had no hand in creating. And the way he reacted when Elain had said no...

When I first discovered that my father's murderer was a human, I assumed that finding out their identity would allow me to direct my hatred at a specific person as opposed to a nebulous entity. But knowing it was Elain, and knowing why...I found it _very_ hard to hate her for it. Indeed, I felt nothing but pity for her. And I sincerely hoped that Isaac Hale never found out about it. 

Unfortunately for me, the next day would bring only worse revelations. 


	12. Dark Secrets and Sisterly Dysfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre reads her mother's letters. Nesta arrives in Woodwall.  
Elain reveals a few key things to all and sundry, and also demands Nesta apologize to Feyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I originally was going to have Valeria and Mr. Archeron have a soulbond, but I decided against it given how Elain's motive for murder KIND of makes him a disgusting person. So I decided instead that Elain's assessment of her father and stepmother's relationship is completely correct.

My second day in Woodwall started off innocuously enough, with breakfast and the Widow handing me some of my mother's letters to read. 

_Dear Rebecca_, began the first one. Rebecca, of course, being the Widow's first name. 

_ Life in Seraston is quite alright. I am most touched by your concern about my adjusting to city life. But you forget-for most of my life, I lived in Goddessgrace-the capital of the Dawn Court. I am well accustomed to city life. Adjusting to Woodwall was far more of a challenge for me than getting accustomed to Seraston . So long as I keep the glamour on me, I do not believe I will have much trouble here. _

_ But while I have had no problem adjusting to city life, that does not mean life as a chambermaid has been easy, however. For I have barely been a month here in Master Archeron's household, but already I sense there is much discord. _

_ For you see, Master Archeron's chief and only wife, Mrs. Valhemia-Archeron, seems to believe that Master Archeron has made every single sufficiently young and attractive serving girl in the household into his consort. Why she believes this-I do not know. It is most certainly not because it is _true_-I know because when I asked, all of the maids in question vehemently denied it, acting almost as if they were offended by the very question. _

_ But regardless of how she comes to believe this, the way she acts in response is quite...off-putting. You see, rather than welcome these women into the household, or make sure they are aware of the rules, the minute Mrs. Valhemia Archeron suspects a woman has become Master Archeron's consort, she immediately sets out to destroy that woman. _

_ The first thing she will do is dismiss the poor woman from the household-and then she will write all sorts of horrible lies to future employers, making sure to ruin their prospective livliehoods in the future. And this is if she is feeling merciful. If she is in a bad mood, she will attempt to injure the offending housemaid in all sorts of inventive ways I care not to describe. And then she will get them falsely accused of blasphemy, theft, or any crime really-all so that Master Archeron must dismiss them himself. _

_ I am much distressed. Not just because the turnover rate for housemaids is so abominably high in this household-but because I fear for what it will do to her daughters. Already her relationship with Master Archeron is much strained due to this; indeed, his regard for her is so low at this point, I wonder why he has not cast her aside already. Roseni knows, if she tried this in Prythian, she would be gone within the hour. No one of any standing in Prythian tolerates infighting among the consorts. _

_ I am in great need of advice on what to do. Should I pack my things and apply to a different household? One with less discord? _

_From, _

_ Valeria_

So. Father had not been entirely wrong in disliking Lady Valhemia, it seems. If my mother's letter was any indication, Lady Valhemia had been a jealous, possessive sort right from the very beginning. That, oddly enough, was comforting enough to know. My father might have treated my sisters like trash, but at least he was not _entirely_ responsible for the divorce. 

Another letter, this one two months into my mother's employ, read: 

_ Dear Rebecca, _

_ Mrs. Valhemia Archeron still has not returned from her "visit to her parents". It has been almost a month now, and still she shows no signs of returning. _

_ I ought to be happy about this, since it means the household has calmed down quite a bit, owing to her absence. Alas, I fear that this 'visit' is no true visit at all, but a sign that her and Master Archeron's marriage is not going to last much longer. I highly suspect that Mrs. Valhemia Archeron dallies in returning because she is using this time to plan for divorce. And I also suspect that Master Archeron is doing the same. _

_ And that begs the question; what becomes of the girls if that happens? On the one hand, Mrs. Valhemia Archeron is nobility; it would only be logical for her to take them. On the other, Nesta and Elain are the only potential heirs Master Archeron has, thus he should keep them. _

_ It is not just my fears of what will happen to Master Archeron's daughters if things continue, however. You see, Mrs. Valhemia Archeron, when leaving for her uncle's estate, inexplicably chose to take the girls' nursemaid, Effie, along with her. Thus, owing to the tender age of the girls- Nesta is but five, and Elain three- and that thanks to Mrs. Valhemia Archeron's behavior towards the housemaids, I am somehow the housemaid who has been here the longest, I have been tasked with caring for the master's daughters. _

_ Master Archeron is very grateful, of course-he tells me so every day, and has increased my wages to prove it-but still, I feel I am rather unequipped for this task. I am not very far along into my lesser majority, after all. Back home, I wouldn't even be considered ready for MARRIAGE, let alone child-rearing. Plus, I am rather unfamiliar with human customs. _

_ Of course, I cannot tell Master Archeron any of us. I still have the glamour on, so he, alongside everyone else, believe me to be human as you are. And thus I am stuck. _

_ From, _

_ Valeria _

Lady Valhemia...took her daughters' nursemaid with her without seeing to Nesta and Elain's care?! _Wow_. So she'd been neglectful from the start, then. That, alongside her rampant jealousy, made it hard to sympathize with her all that much. Small wonder, I thought to myself, that my father had found it a chore to be married to her.

Or so I thought upon reading that first batch of letters. For, the very next letter in the pile, dated two days after the last one, read: 

_Dear Rebecca,_

_A most curious thing happened today. While I was with Miss Nesta and Elain, Master Archeron had my things moved from the servants' quarters and into the bedchamber adjoining the nursery. He claimed that since Effie and Mrs. Archeron were not returning anytime soon, I might as well take up residence there for the time being. He was even thoughtful enough to place a small vase of peonies on my dresser. A gesture which is much appreciated, owing to the nurse's bedchamber being rather drab and colorless._

I set down the letter in shock, horrified. Peonies. My father had...given her _peonies_ not two months into my mother's employment. 

My mother, ignorant of human customs that she was, would of course not have picked up on the horrendous implications of that gift, but I, having grown up in Serast my whole life, knew full well that in Serast, a man gave a woman a bouquet of peonies for one reason, and one reason only: to declare that he intended to begin courting her. 

I had hoped, knowing about soul-bonds and that they could happen between humans and Fae, that my parents' infidelity was due to a soul-bond. At the very least, I had assumed that my parents' romance had been a gradual, slow, _graceful_ development.

But this...this was a bald-faced, blunt declaration of interest on my father's part when they barely even _knew_ each other. For him to do something like this when he was _married_-to a servant, no less-it was the _height_ of impropriety, and there was no way he didn't know it. Any Serast woman brought up with a shred of decency would have thrown them out instantly. 

The letter contained nothing else of interest-merely a recounting of her day with my sisters, as if my father hadn't behaved in such a scandalous fashion. And the Widow Mallory must have been equally horrified, for the letter after that began: 

_Dear Rebecca,_

_Your last letter left me very confused. Mainly because it was very brief, and because the instructions in it were most puzzling. Why should I pack my things and give the master my notice? And moreover, why should I leave Seraston immediately? Is everything all right back in Woodwall? _

_ At any rate, I have some very good news: Master Archeron has promoted me from housemaid to the girls' official nurse._

_ I cannot begin to tell you how honored I feel at this, and how utterly unfit at the same time. After all, in Prythian, the title of official caretaker to a lord's heirs is conferred only upon those servants the master of the household feels are the best and wisest. I assume the same must be in Serast, although I am not certain. After all, Effie was the official nurse before me, and she abandoned the girls without a thought. _

_ I also, however, feel much safer now thanks to my new position. After all, not even a favored consort would dream of attacking the caretaker of the house's heirs, and Mrs. Archeron is by no means favored by the master. _

_ You must visit Seraston some time, so that we can celebrate this turn of good fortune together. _

_ From, _

_ Valeria _

I gulped as I read that line. Oh no. I knew _exactly_ where this was headed. My mother might have thought the promotion innocent, might have assumed it meant a sexless, safe, cushy job, but in fact, it was anything but. If my sisters' romance novels and the high society gossip rags had taught me anything, it was that when a young, beautiful woman was given the position of head nursemaid in the household of a man who was rich and married, that meant she was pretty much his official mistress. Especially if the marriage was on the rocks. 

In terms of safety from Lady Valhemia, my mother had leaped out of the frying pan and into the fire. A fact which, thankfully, the Widow Mallory appeared to have made my mother aware of, for the next letter read: 

_ Dear Rebecca, _

_ So...if I am to understand you correctly, my new position is not an honor, but instead a sign that I am to become Master Archeron's newest consort? That is...good to know. I...I have rather mixed feelings about this, as you might expect. _

_ You see, I do not mind the idea as such, for I have grown rather fond of Master Archeron. I admire him quite a lot, in fact, for his ambition and for how wonderfully he treats those beneath him. I believe I could be quite happy as a member of his household, were it not for a few things. _

_ For one, there is my status as a disgraced exile. While the human peasant girl the master believes me to be might be an all right consort for a merchant family such as his, the truth, as you and I know, would probably ruin him were I to be his consort. For yes, I am innocent, and I was clearly framed by Amarantha. But that does not matter. For him to take a disgraced High Fae such as myself-a criminal, for a consort-it would no doubt bar him from polite society forever, at the very least. And the gods alone know what would become of Nesta and Elain. _

_ But even if I wasn't in disgrace, there is the matter of Mrs. Valhemia Archeron. She is _obviously_ not fit for the position of a chief wife, what with her consistent schemes against women she only _thinks_ are potential consorts, stooping to such a level that would utterly disgrace her in Prythian. I shudder to think what such an immature woman as her would do were she forced to reckon with the reality of actually not being the sole wife of Master Archeron. While it is her right as a wife to refuse to admit new consorts into the household, we both know she is not the sort of woman to peaceably reject a consort and leave it at that. Oh, no. I would most definitely be dead within the hour._

_ I could not bear to cause Master Archeron such distress, even if the blame for it technically lay at his wife's feet and not mine. I know what I must do. I must tell him the truth, and take my leave of his household. _

_ From, _

_ Valeria _

I almost wept to read that letter. My mother was no whore. Even with her limited knowledge of human culture, she had tried to do the right thing, prioritizing my father and sisters above her own happiness. She wasn't even jealous of the Lady Valhemia-she had respected her from the beginning, and had harbored no ill will to her. My mother had not even desired to usurp the woman at all. 

Whereas my father...Elain was completely, utterly right about my father. He had pursued her in a truly disgraceful fashion so far, and I had a sickening feeling it would only get worse. And the next letter, dated some months later, only confirmed my suspicions: 

_Dear Rebecca, _

_ I am sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. But do not worry-I fear I shall be making this up to you with an unexpected visit. The reasons for which will require quite a bit of explaining. _

_ For when I told Master Archeron the truth about who I was and about my intentions to leave for the good of the household, he...did not react how I expected. He was not nearly as surprised as he should have been when he learned I was High Fae, for starters. Nor was he at all concerned that he was harboring a criminal. _

_ Instead he told me that since I was capable of disguising it with a glamour, that I could simply continue to do so and that nobody would ever have cause to learn the truth. As to my concerns about Mrs. Archeron, he promised me that he would protect me from her, and that I did not need to worry. _

_ Indeed, he is a brave man, braver than I expected, for he did not even balk at the news that he would most likely be dead before I reached my proper majority. As a matter of fact, this news gave him... a sort of strange pleasure. He was...delighted, he said, to have a wife that would be eternally young and beautiful. _

I fought the urge to gag. As romantic as that must have sounded to my mother, I knew better. Of _course_ my father would find the idea of a wife that never aged to be appealing. After all, he was the sort of man that would pimp his daughters out for cash; he was hardly the picture of chivalry. Indeed, the more I learned about him, the bigger and bigger a pervert he became. 

_ And so I accepted a position as his consort, for good or for ill_, my mother continued. _But for now, I am afraid it is more to the ill than the good._ _Namely because you see, on the same night I told him, he...invited me into his bed. I...accepted that invitation. I accepted...multiple such invitations in the days that followed, as a matter of fact. __Roseni forgive me, I know I should not have- if Mrs. Archeron knew, it would only increase the chances of my dying at her hands. But after so long from home, after I'd fallen so far...I needed to feel desired. Wanted. And being in Master Archeron's bed gave me that. And not to mention, pleasure, too. Ah, such pleasure! _

_ But that carnal pleasure came with a price, for now I am pregnant. Pregnant with Master Archeron's child. _

_ Now you know why I am coming to visit. It would not be good, obviously, to give birth while Mrs. Archeron was around. And more than that-I must bring the child back to Prythian, to the Dawn Court. I know I am an exile, in disgrace, and that I have no right to return. But I am also my father's only child-exiling me stripped him of his only heir. Now that I have a child inside me, I can rectify that. And once my father has the child, I will return back to Serast, where I will live out the remainder of my days. _

_ From, _

_ Valeria_

The next batch of letters was infinitely worse. For apparently, while my mother did manage to safely give birth in Woodwall-not Seraston, as I believed- she was also, unfortunately, convinced to come back by my father, and return she did. Not before learning about what marriage entailed in Serast, however-and about what it meant to be the "consort" of a man who was already married to someone else. Thus, these letters were ones filled of self-loathing and regret; worse, they were letters written by a woman who at best, stayed only reluctantly, and at worst, by a woman who was arguably trapped, a prisoner. 

A woman who, despite that, still loved my father and surprisingly, held no ill will towards either my sisters or Lady Valhemia; indeed, my mother wanted nothing but the best for them, even as she lived her life in fear of my father's wife. Indeed, every day she prayed to Brustana and Roseni to forgive her for "_hurting" _Lady Valhemia-as unintentional as it had been, my mother felt deep guilt, as if she committed blasphemy by, in her own words "helping a man to hurt his wife so".

Elain had been right. There was no defending my father. My mother was not a whore; she had not willingly wanted or ever even set out to ruin my father's marriage. Indeed, my father was the only one to blame for the destruction of his marriage. 

While Lady Valhemia might have been a jealous, possessive shrew, she had not been the one who seduced someone totally under her power while my father wasn't looking. My father, on the other hand, _had_. 

And yes, my mother might have willingly agreed to be my father's mistress, but she was also a young woman from a culture with no concept of adultery. And even then, she had tried multiple times to leave, both before and after she learned what adultery was. My father had been the one who insisted she stay, who had kept her and me here, even though my mother wanted to have me raised in Prythian.

And thus, Father had condemned me to a life as a bastard, despite knowing full well who my mother had been, who I _could_ have been in Prythian. Father was indeed, as Elain had said, the architect of all our misery; even mine and my mother's. He had not just "not even been good" to my mother though. He had been utterly horrid to her. And, despite my being his favorite, to me as well. 

That was merely the morning, however. The afternoon would turn out to be far, far worse. 

For, as I was strolling through the village, what kind of carriage should arrive in Woodwall but one bearing the livery of House Mandray? And where should it be going but the Hale mansion? 

I immediately began running after the carriage, determined to intercept Nesta before she made a big mistake. To my surprise, I somehow managed to keep in pace with the carriage, even though the horses were at a full canter. But not enough, alas, to intercept her carriage before it stopped in front of the Hale mansion, and Nesta got out of it, and knocked on the door, looking extremely angry as she did. 

It was an anger which quickly gave way to utter shock as Nesta glanced at me and took in my half-Fae appearance.

"_Whore's get_?" Nesta gasped, her mouth ajar. "What are _you_ doing back in Serast? And why..._why do you look like that_?" 

"It's...it's..." I began, but before I could finish, Elain opened the door and snapped, 

"Because our stepmother was _Fae_, Nesta. Why else?" 

Elain rolled her eyes and added, 

"But then again, you already knew that, didn't you?" 

"WHAT?!" Nesta and I gasped in unison.

"How could she possibly-?" I asked, utterly confused. 

"How could I-?" Nesta agreed, looking equally baffled. 

"Oh, it's a long story, baby sister," Elain said, "One best told inside." 

"Yes, inside your-" 

Nesta stopped herself, as her eyes slid downwards towards Elain's belly. Elain's pregnant belly. 

"You little HARLOT!" she cried. "So you couldn't even keep your legs SHUT until the wedding night?!"

Nesta rolled her eyes.

"No, that would have been _too much_ for you," she mocked. "Just like marrying a little higher up was too much for you." 

"Oh, shut it, Nesta," Elain snapped. "Isaac and I are happy together, which is _more_ than can be said for _you_." 

"I...I don't understand," I said, as Nesta paled at that accusation. "Is Nesta...is Nesta not happy with the viscount?" 

Nesta turned white as a sheet. 

"That is none of your business, whore's get!" she cried. 

Elain, on the other hand, broke into a huge grin as she said, 

"Oh, she absolutely isn't. Don't you know, Feyre? The viscount has a _mistress_-and on top of that, the mistress is _pregnant_ while _Nesta_ isn't." 

"Elain, you-!" Nesta cried. 

Elain chuckled. 

"But then again, it's to be _expected_. After all, _just_ like Mother and Father, she married for money and power. And despite having our parents' example to drawn from, she is _shocked_, I tell you, _shocked_-to run into the same problems Mother did." 

Elain gestured into the house. 

"But come," she said. "This is a discussion best had over tea." 

And thus, we followed Elain into her parlor, Nesta seething with fury all the way, I utterly gobsmacked both by the news and the complete change in our relationships to one another. Because not only were Nesta and Elain at each other's throats-but Elain actually seemed to prefer _me_ to Nesta now! _Me_!

"At any rate," Nesta said frostily as we sipped tea, "I came here, Elain, about your husband's foolish demolition of our cottage." 

"Why?" Elain demanded. "Why is it foolish? _You're_ not living there anymore, _I'm_ not living there anymore, Feyre _certainly_ isn't living there anymore-the place is abandoned. Nobody was using it. It would have stayed an empty, abandoned house for the rest of our lives if Isaac hadn't bought the property. And it would do Woodwall a world of good to have a place where they can become educated and learn things." 

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Nesta exclaimed. "It was my property-I am Father's heir-the decision was _mine_!" 

"No, it _wasn't_," Elain retorted. "It was Feyre's." 

"Feyre's?" Nesta cried. "But Feyre isn't-she's the-" 

"The youngest, yes," Elain acknowledged. "But they were grooming _her_ to be his heir, don't you remember? _Not you_. Great Somnus-Father even had it written down that Feyre inherited everything-in his _will_, no less! Of course, we _burned_ that thing the night I killed Father, but still-" 

"You...burned Father's will?" I gasped. 

"Elain!" Nesta cried. "That was supposed to be a secret!" 

"Oh, Feyre already _knows_ about the whole patricide thing," Elain laughed, waving off Nesta's concerns. "The will-burning thing, not so much. But still-neither of us had a legal right to the cottage, and we both know it. And since the only person who _did_ have an actual legal right to it was locked away in Prythian for the rest of our lives-"

Elain shrugged. 

"I figured, why let it go to waste? And besides, my illegal decision benefits everyone in Woodwall greatly, whereas your illegal decision benefits _no one_, not even us. But don't take it from me; let's ask Feyre what she thinks." 

I blinked, utterly stunned by this response. 

"Me?" I cried. "But...but..." 

"Well, you are the person whose property I demolished," Elain said, "Why shouldn't I ask your opinion?" 

I could not help but agree with Elain's analysis. Education in Woodwall consisted mainly of a one-room schoolhouse, lessons in which were taught to the village children by an elderly spinster. Once those children turned fourteen, that was considered the end of their schooling. Any supplement to such a paltry education could only benefit Woodwall. 

"I...think the library was a splendid idea," I replied nervously. "Well done, Elain. Well done." 

"You...hiding behind that whore's get will get you nowhere, Elain," Nesta declared. "Without the will, there's no proof Feyre owned the cottage, so you still have me to answer to." 

"Oh, but Feyre _isn't_ a whore's get, actually," Elain replied. "At least, not according to _Fae_ law." 

"I...I...what?" Nesta sputtered, spitting tea back into her cup as she did. 

"Oh, yeah, Feyre's actually a _princess_, did I forget to mention that?" Elain retorted. "A _Fae_ princess, no less. Why don't you tell her, Feyre?" 

"Uh...alright." I agreed nervously. 

I took a deep breath in and then began, calmly as I could: 

"My mother...your stepmother, was none other than the Lady Valeria fi Aurorae, only daughter of and heir apparent to High Lord Thesan fi Aurorae, of the Dawn Court. And since...Fae law has no concept of illegitimacy, that makes me...High Lord Thesan's new heir apparent." 

Elain grinned wildly and clapped her hands. 

"It's amazing, isn't it?" she cried. "All this time, we treated her like dirt under our heels, when she was _above_ us in rank all the while. While we're nobly-descended commoners, _she's_ an _actual princess_."

Nesta turned white as a sheet. 

"No," she gasped. "That can't be. That can't be possible." 

"Oh, but it _is_," Elain gloated. "Which means _you_ committed regicide, older sister."

"_Regicide_?" I cried. "But...but Mother was in exile! And besides, she died of sickness-the Yellow Death."

"Oh, no, Feyre," Elain cackled. "The Yellow Death was just a convenient excuse; a ruse Nesta and Effie used to hide behind and avoid getting hanged with. You see, Feyre-" 

"Elain, if you say one more word," Nesta interrupted, her face tight with fury, "I will-" 

"The two of them were in on it together," Elain continued, utterly unperturbed by Nesta's anger. "Effie cooked up some poison for Nesta to use-a poison that she guaranteed would kill our stepmother instantly. And Nesta slipped that poison into your mother's soup while no one was looking. And then, the second our stepmother gave up the ghost, the idiot doctor attending her declared it was the Yellow Death, and everyone was none the wiser. Everyone except _Nesta_ and _Effie_."

My jaw dropped in horror. 

"You...you _murdered_ my mother," I cried, a wave of fury and horror rising through me as I turned to stare at Nesta. "All this time, I felt sorry for you because of what Lady Valhemia did, and _you_...you _murdered_ my mother. A woman who was _nothing_ but good to you!" 

Nesta stared right back at me, unblinking, completely unflinching. 

"If she was really so good to us," Nesta retorted, "So...wonderful as you say she was, then why did she sleep with Father? Why did she give birth to _you_?" 

"How. _Dare_. You?!" I thundered, leaping from my seat. "My mother was a _prisoner_ in Father's house- she tried to leave-she _tried!_ But Father _kept_ her here, against her will, as a _prisoner_!" 

"That...and it turns out the Fae don't really know what adultery is," Elain added with a shrug. "_Apparently_ the High Lords have multiple wives on the regular and nobody cares. So it's not like our stepmother _understood_ what she was doing. Father, on the other hand-Father knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and did it _anyway_." 

Elain stared into Nesta's steely gaze without so much as flinching. 

"You know, Nesta, ever since that Fae lord kicked us out of Prythian, I've had time to think," she said. "And I've realized something: he was _absolutely right_. Feyre's not responsible for our problems, she never _has_ been. Not because of her secret royal heritage or anything-but because the _real_ culprits are our parents. And because we couldn't bring them to justice for what they did, we took our anger out on Feyre." 

"Oh, but the way I hear you tell it, you _did_ bring them to justice," I remarked dryly. "In your own perverse way." 

Elain chuckled. 

"Patricide committed in the heat of the moment is _not_ bringing someone to justice," Elain replied. "Not to mention, our cold-hearted shrew of a mother has still yet to pay for leaving us to rot." 

"Oh, shut your mouth, Elain," Nesta spat. "You're only siding with the whore's get _now_ because you've become a harlot yourself." 

"My surprise pregnancy did cause me to rethink things, it's true," Elain acknowledged. "Of course, I didn't _realize_ I'd been creating a little darling in my womb until three weeks after the wedding, but still...it made me realize: I _do_ share a sort of kinship with our late stepmother. Of course, the difference between us, is: _my_ little treasure will be born _within_ wedlock. A difference which, I observe, relies entirely on the fact that _Isaac_ did the honorable thing and proposed. Unlike our _father_." 

Elain laughed sharply. 

"We both conceived out of wedlock," she began. "Yet society names our stepmother a whore, whereas I? I technically remain an honest woman. The difference, I've come to realize, doesn't really lie in our actual strength of morals so much as it lies in how the _men_ in our lives treated us. My baby is legitimate because Isaac valued and respected me enough to marry me. Whereas Feyre had to suffer the indignity of being a lovechild because Father was a rotten human being." 

Elain took a sip of tea. 

"So you see, whether or not a woman is virtuous depends entirely on whether _men_ behave virtuously towards her. A woman is respectable if men are good to her. If men treat her badly...she's a whore, and deserving of ill treatment. We women-at least in Serast-really have an astonishing lack of control over our lives, don't we? Everything about us-even our moral character-is determined wholly by men." 

"Is there a point to this, Elain?" Nesta snapped. "Or are you just going to keep blaming everyone but yourself for your misfortunes?" 

"Oh, there's a point, alright," Elain growled. "The point being that it is _long_ past time to for you and me to grow up and apologize to Feyre for the shit we've put her through." 

Nesta's jaw dropped. 

"WHAT?!!!" she cried, and in truth, I could not believe what Elain was saying either. The idea of Elain now preferring me to Nesta was one thing. The idea of Elain actually feeling remorse for her treatment of me was quite another. 

"You heard me," Elain retorted. "I want you and I to apologize to Feyre, right here, right now, for what we put her through. For treating her like a slave when we _should_ have treated her like a sister. For beating her bloody and forcing her to live off table scraps. For turning our nose up at her when she worked herself to the bone to keep all of us alive. For being ungrateful bitches when she sacrificed herself to save _your_ bacon. And for making complete _asses_ of ourselves in the Spring Court."

"You want _me_...to _apologize_ to that whore's get?!" Nesta cried, eyes wide with a combination of shock and outrage. 

"Yes. For a _start_," Elain shot back. "It's the _least_ she deserves, after all that we did." 


	13. A Measure of Self-Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta refuses to apologize. Elain attempt to blackmail Nesta into apologizing, which fails.   
Elain then apologizes to Feyre, and Feyre accepts her apology. Feyre doesn't know what to do with all these revelations about her family, and has an identity crisis. The Widow tries to help Feyre through it, and in the process, she and Feyre stumble on a plan to save the Spring Court.

"Absolutely not," Nesta declared as she rose from her chair. "_Absolutely not_! Princess or no, she is _still_ a whore's get!" 

Elain rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, come on, you're not _really_ going to cling on to that, are you?" she groaned. "Feyre being born out of wedlock is a drop in the bucket compared to what you've done, and you_ know_ it! Or at least, you would, if you weren't utterly consumed by bitterness!" 

Elain stood up, went over to a small table against the wall of the parlor, opened the lid of it, and withdrew what appeared to be a small packet of something, and several pieces of paper tied together in a stack. She then sat back down in her chair and lifted them up in front of Nesta. 

"I don't think I need to tell you what these are, Nesta," Elain began, "But for Feyre's benefit I will gladly explain. This stack of papers, Nesta, is a bunch of entries I cut out from your diary confirming your and Effie's roles in our stepmother's death. And in this packet is Faebane, the poison that _killed_ our stepmother. Or, more specifically, the poison given to you by Effie so that you could kill our stepmother."

"Wait, what's Faebane?" I asked, utterly confused by it all. "And how did Effie make it?"

"I don't know how she made it, Feyre," Elain said as she stood up and hastily put both the Faebane packet and the stack of diary entries into the side table's secret compartment. "But I do know that Faebane is a curious substance which is only poisonous to Fae. If a human were to ingest it, nothing would happen to them."

A wide grin spread across Elain's face as she sat back down in her chair.

"Therefore, it will be clear to His Majesty, and to anyone made aware of these facts," Elain explained, "That you, Viscountess Nesta Mandray, and our nursemaid Effie, did conspire to murder our stepmother eight years ago. After all, Faebane has no medicinal properties, nor does it have any use as a seasoning, so the only reason you could possibly have put it in our stepmother's soup was for the purpose of murder. And since our stepmother was none other than Lady Valeria fi Aurorae, daughter of High Lord Thesan of the Dawn Court in Prythian-" 

"That I will have broken the Treaty not once but _twice_," Nesta said solemnly, her eyes wide with horror. "And on top of that, I will have murdered the heir apparent of the Dawn Court. His Majesty would have no choice but to have me executed. At best. At worst, I'd be killed or taken prisoner by the Fae. And Thomas would divorce me in a heartbeat." 

"Are we feeling different about apologizing to Feyre now?" Elain asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

But if I am being honest with you, in that moment, I did not want Nesta's apology. All my life, she had been cruel to me, even when I had done my very best to be good to her. When I had traded my life for hers, she had been completely ungrateful. She had helped to make such a scene in the Spring Court that we almost went to war. All of that I could-and had-forgiven. 

But Nesta had murdered my mother. My sweet, dear mother. And not in self-defense, like Elain had with Father. Oh, no. Nesta had planned it in _advance_, planned her death the way one might plan a party. And for that, for the crime of taking my poor mother away from me, I could never, ever, forgive her. Not now, not ever. 

Therefore, I wanted Nesta to reject the deal, to throw it in Elain's face. Better still, I wanted Elain to make good on her word, to destroy Nesta's world the way Nesta had destroyed mine by murdering my mother. And, to much to my horror later, I got exactly what I wanted. 

"I will not be intimidated by blackmail," Nesta spat, glaring at Elain as she headed for the door. "Do your worst, little sister. But it does not matter how much Fae blood runs through her veins, or her status in Prythian, or how high she rises in the world. She is still a whore's get, and always will be a whore's get. And I will never apologize to her."

"Then you have sealed your own doom, Viscountess Mandray," Elain announced as Nesta's hand reached for the door, "Hold on to your pride, your title, and your money for as long as you can; it won't be long before Somnus takes you, be it here or in Prythian." 

Nesta's response was merely to glower at Elain and then walk out, slamming the door behind her as she did. Once she was gone, Elain turned to me and said, a pained look on her face, 

"I'm sorry I couldn't persuade Nesta. I really am." 

"It's alright," I said, not wanting to reveal the depth of my hatred, which was starting to sink in and shock me. "I wasn't expecting her to apologize anyway." 

Elain smiled weakly and got up. 

"True," she admitted. "And it's not really important anyway. The important thing now is..." 

Elain got on her knees and asked sorrowfully, regret filling every feature of her face: 

"I'm sorry, Feyre. For everything that I've done to you. For treating you like a slave these past six years. For being an ungrateful little hussy when you sacrificed yourself for Nesta. For making such a scene in the Spring Court that High Lord Tamlin ended up banishing us permanently-and indeed, it was fortunate that he only did that. And, even, a little bit, for murdering Father." 

I blinked in surprise at that last one, remembering how full of scorn Elain had been when she'd confessed to the deed. 

"Not for me, not because I loved him or anything like that," Elain informed me hastily, "But because _you_ loved _him_, and _he_ loved _you_. I'm sorry for taking that love away from you. No matter what he did to me and Nesta, I should never have deprived you of that, especially when you take in to account how Nesta and I treated you afterward." 

"Ah," I replied, nodding slowly. That made more sense. 

Elain sighed. 

"I don't know if you can find it in your heart to forgive me," she continued, "But I honestly hope you do, and I will pray to Roseni and Brustana every day-" 

"Of course I forgive you, Elain," I said, tears filling my eyes as I let out a small laugh. "How can I not? I never thought you would go to this trouble to earn my forgiveness or friendship. So...don't offer extra prayers for something I already gave you."

Elain's face burst out into a happy smile as she got up and hugged me fiercely. 

"Thank you," she cried. "Thank you so much! I promise from now on to be a better sister!" 

With that resolved, we eventually said our goodbyes as I walked away from the Hale place, more disoriented than ever. How could I not be? Everything I knew about my life in Serast had been wrong. 

I was not the product of a tragic but doomed love affair; my father had been a callous lech who manipulated my innocent mother into becoming his mistress. My father had not died at the hands of a rogue Fae: Elain had killed him in self-defense. And, most shocking of all, my mother had not died of the Yellow Death; Nesta and Effie had poisoned her. 

And on top of it all, Nesta and Elain were at each others' throats, and Elain actually liked me! This, plus the fact of my true heritage as half-Fae, half-human, had thrown my world upside down and sent me spinning around off-course along with it. 

Who _were_ these people, these dysfunctional folks who claimed to be my mother, father and sisters? Surely this innocent woman deceived and manipulated by a complete cad couldn't be my mother? Surely this lecherous, deceitful, heartless excuse for a man willing to whore his own daughters against their will to save himself couldn't possibly be my father? And surely these murderers, one by accident, and the other completely unrepentant, couldn't be my sisters?

That was the thing, though; they _were_. They _all_ were. Which left me with a bigger question: who was I, without the patchwork of "truths" I had known and assumed my whole life? Because there were so many of them. So many simple, unassuming "truths" which had never actually been true. 

I was not base-born. I was not the product of a loving relationship. My sisters were not respectable ladies. My parents had not died of tragic but unpreventable causes. And according to Fae law, I was not even illegitimate. Come to think of it, I wasn't even _human_. Not fully, at least. 

Everything I had ever been, had ever known myself to be, depended on these lies to exist. But they were just lies. So who _was_ I? Who was I, if I was not Feyre Archeron, illegitimate base-born daughter, born from the love between a hard-working merchant and a servant girl, a woman devoted to saving her legitimate, respectable sisters from starvation? 

It was a question I was completely unable to answer. And the lack of answers to which utterly displeased me. 

Widow Mallory must have noticed my morose mood over dinner that night, for she asked me, 

"Why so glum, Feyre? Missing the Spring Court already?" 

Jolted out of my miserable reverie, I blurted out,

"Oh, no! Or, well...yes, but that's not what I was thinking about." 

"Then what were you thinking about?" she inquired, her face a mask of confusion.

"It's just that everything I've ever known has been a lie," I sighed, and after that I told her everything I had discovered about my family since coming back to Woodwall, not omitting a single thing. 

"I see. You're confused by all these family secrets," the Widow Mallory mused. "Well, it's only natural. Some of them are quite shocking." 

"It feels like I've stepped into a completely different world," I complained. "This isn't the Serast I knew at all! Everything is different-so much has changed!"

"You've changed, too," the Widow pointed out. "And not just in appearance. You've become somewhat more assertive since I saw you last." 

She was right, I realized. I _had_. The person I was before going to Prythian would never have wished doom on Nesta. Something which, I realized, I did not at all like. 

"Well, how do I become the person I used to be, then?" I asked. "How do I become someone who wouldn't be happy at seeing one sister engineer the execution of the other?" 

"I can hardly fault you for wanting to see your mother's murderer brought to justice," the Widow pointed out. "And I could find precious few who would. Besides, are you sure that regressing to your previous self is a worthy goal?" 

I blinked in confusion. 

"What...what do you mean?" 

"Well, before you entered Prythian, you were beaten and worked to death on a regular basis," the Widow began. "And to make matters worse, you were in complete denial about your sisters' mistreatment of you. You could not for the life of you have stood up for yourself."

I nodded. 

"That's true," I acknowledged. "I was their workhorse, and grateful to be so." 

"But since then," the Widow said, "You have learned a measure of self-worth. One which has gifted you with more than just the feeling of anger. It has also given you something else. Tell me: would your old self have ever been able to accept Elain's apology and forgive her?"

"No," I admitted, somewhat stunned by the revelation. "I would have been down on my knees begging her to forgive me for making her feel like she needed _my_ forgiveness." 

"A spineless act which would have benefited no one," the Widow agreed. "Least of all you." 

"As nice as it is that I've changed for the better," I said, still uncertain as to everything, "How do I live here? How do I stay here and be safe like Tamlin ordered me?"

The Widow looked me in the eye and asked pointedly, 

"Do you want to live here?"

"No," I blurted out. Immediately after I said so, however, I put my hand over my mouth, horrified by the answer.

"Why?" the Widow asked, seemingly undaunted by my answer. 

I tore my hand away from my mouth and stammered, unsure of how to proceed: 

"Well, it's not that I don't like you...truly it isn't. I relish being here with you and Padma, I really do. It's just that...well, my sisters are fighting-were doing so even before I got here. And people are shocked by my appearance, and I have...I have no role here in the community anymore. The cottage is gone, and I don't sell furs or meat or...plus there are people I care about up there in Prythian, people who are going to die in a few days." 

"So why stay here? You are not Tamlin's subject; you do not have to do as he says." 

I sighed.

"Because I can't save them," I admitted. "The Spring Court is all under a curse that'll turn them to stone unless I magically fall in love with Tamlin. But I haven't yet, and, well..." 

I then explained the nature of the soul-bond to the Widow Mallory, and how, with it growing between me and Rhysand, I was hopelessly in love with the High Lord of the Night Court, much to the Spring Court's detriment. When I was done, the Widow Mallory raised an eyebrow and asked, 

"Are you sure you can't save the Spring Court?"

"What do you mean?" I cried. "OF COURSE I can't save the Spring Court! I'm not in love with Tamlin, and I'm not even human enough to save him in the first place!" 

"Does Amarantha's curse specify that the girl must be of fully human ancestry?" 

"N-no," I replied, unsure where this was going. "What do you mean?" 

"Curses are like legal documents," the Widow Mallory explained. "All of the scholars on Fae magic are agreed upon that point. The more loopholes a curse has, the weaker it is. Therefore, the strongest curses have the fewest loopholes. And this is one huge loophole any lawyer would be more than happy to exploit: the curse only specifies that the girl must be _human_. It does not specify how _much_ human ancestry she must have. For all we know, the curse could easily be dissolved by a Fae with only the faintest traces of human blood in them."

"So I qualify because I'm half human," I said glumly. "That's all fine and dandy, but I'm still not in love with Tamlin." 

"Not romantically," the Widow Mallory agreed. "But romantic love is not the only kind of love. After all, you do not love your sisters romantically, yes?" 

"No," I replied, scandalized by the idea. "Of course not!" 

"But you do love them, nonetheless," the Widow Mallory pointed out. "In a familial sense. Philosophers and scholars have often talked about the nature of love. Some say there are four loves: Unconditional love for all intelligent beings, love of family, love of friends, and romantic love. While you do not love Tamlin romantically, or in a familial sense, can you say that you do not love him as a friend?" 

"As a...well, yes, he is a friend," I replied, trying to wrap my head around it all. "A dear friend. But...what do you mean by love?" 

"You would mourn him greatly if he died, yes? Just as you would mourn me if I passed?" the Widow asked. 

I nodded. 

"Absolutely," I replied. 

"Then that is the love of friends," the Widow told me, "Platonic, not passionate, and yet deep in its own way." 

Love of friends. The concept reminded me of something Larina had said back when she tried to dissuade me from drinking the love potion: _there are many forms of love._

Many forms of love. If that was true, then maybe I didn't need to be in love with Tamlin to save him. Maybe jut loving him _as a friend_ would work. 

"I'll pack up for Prythian after dinner," I told the Widow. "Thank you for helping me." 

"Oh, no no no," the Widow said, putting her hands up to stop me. "Before we do anything rash, we should make sure our plan is as perfect as we can make it."


	14. Chapter 14

That third day, my last day in in Woodwall, Padma, the Widow Mallory, and I prepared for my return to Prythian.

Widow Mallory and I drafted a list of potential curse-breaking declarations of platonic love, one for each potential situation I encountered in Prythian. The statements covered a range of potential situations; from Tamlin still ruling, the best-case scenario, to Amarantha ruling-the worst-case scenario. Padma and the other servants prepared a horse and collected everything I would need for the journey. 

Eventually, a few hours before sundown, I was ready. I had my horse, my travel bags, and things to say that would hopefully break Amarantha's spell. I had said my goodbyes to the Widow, Padma, and her household and was fully prepared to leave when Elain rushed up to me, screaming, 

"Wait! Wait!" 

Confused, and slightly guilty, I dismounted my horse and said to her: 

"What is it, sister?" 

Elain handed me a tiny knitted drawstring pouch.

"Take this," she told me. "It's Faebane. Use it on anyone who tries to hurt you." 

I blinked in surprise. 

"You're...you're not going to use it to incriminate Nesta?" 

Elain shook her head. 

"Your survival is more important," she replied. "And besides, I still have the diary entries." 

With that, we hugged and said our farewells, before I mounted my horse once more and rode into the forest. 

***

This journey into Prythian was nothing like the last one; for this time I got to experience the mundane, unpleasant nature of camping in the woods during wintertime. A misery only compounded


End file.
